The Melbourne Riots

Preface

The present time is a most hazardous one. Good men and women, of all stations in society, recognize that the existing social conditions are most unjust and likely to suffer a serious crash in the not far distant future. Naturally enough the thinkers of the age, are trying, through the channels of pleasing fiction, to present a solution of the knotty social problem which confronts us; but, in the present writer's opinion, although their efforts have been an inestimable boon to humanity, they have all, with perhaps one exception, fallen short of the desired goal. “Looking Backward” is too impracticable, and too authoritarian to be desirable even if it were practicable; as the clever Writer of “Looking Further Forward” has well shown; “Caesar's Column,” although a masterpiece of destructive reasoning, is unsatisfactory to those who would see society build itself anew; “News from Nowhere” is too exclusively sentimental; while the hosts of minor works are not characterized by any ideas of special value in the solution of the problem. Even “Freeland,” the able work of Dr. Hertzka which towers above all the others in profundity of thought and correct economic insight, is based upon a scheme of such colossal magnitude as to somewhat detract from its immediate utility, and furthermore it relies for its execution upon the means of the wealthy. In the present work the writer endeavors to show how the oppressed classes can work out their own emancipation without reliance upon the uncertain assistance of the wealthy.

The author gladly acknowledges the valuable assistance rendered by Mr. Philip Kleinmann and Mr. David A. Crichton (late Government Agricultural lecturer), who have supplied valuable information used in working out some of the details; and also several other gentlemen and ladies, who have kindly furnished some useful particulars.

If the present work should be the means of stimulating the workers to strive to emancipate themselves by rational methods, the author's labors will not have been in vain.

D.A.A.

Melbourne, November, 1892.

THE MELBOURNE RIOTS;

And How Harry Holdfast and His Friends Emancipated the Workers.

I. “Harry, if you take my advice you'll not go to that meeting.”

“But I don't intend to take your advice, John. I know what I'm about. And I know that my presence will have an important effect in deciding the fate of those unfortunate wretches, who are almost driven mad with hunger and oppression. What with those crafty capitalistic wire-pullers aggravating them to deeds of rashness and riot on the one side, and the equally unprincipled tactics and dangerous utterances of those favour-seeking demagogues on the other, they are in the greatest danger that they could possibly be. They might as well be at the mercy of wild beasts in a jungle. I have strong misgivings that some serious calamity will befall them to-night.”

“A very good reason why you should stay at home, instead of getting into trouble over other people.”

But Harry Holdfast was determined. No argument or appeal could possibly affect him—unless, indeed, to intensify his determination—and without taking any notice of his brother's retort, he immediately left the house, and made his way to town where the “monster indignation labor meeting” was advertised to be held.

Harry was a popular character amongst the working people of Melbourne, because he was not only an eloquent labor agitator, but he had a happy method of putting himself on friendly terms with his hearers by appealing to the better natures of friend and foe alike. Of course, he had his enemies, as every one has had who has tried to make the world better than he found it; but they were not many, and he gave them little opportunity of pointing the finger of slander against him, the worst that they could say of him being that he was an “agitator.” But as he was proud of the title, that did not trouble him.

But there were other things that did trouble Harry, and troubled him deeply.

There was a terrible state of destitution amongst thousands of the working classes, not only in Melbourne, but throughout the whole colony of Victoria; in fact, the “depression,” as it was called, had become common throughout the whole civilized world. Men were out of employment in all directions. Work had ceased to be scarce, and had become totally unobtainable for great numbers of them. The ranks of the unemployed were growing greater and greater from week to week. Charitable societies were organizing in every big centre of population, but they were powerless to effect any material change in the state of affairs; all the wealth they dispensed in six months could not keep those already out of employment supplied with the necessaries of life for a single day. The Government had been compelled to start various relief works, but they only employed, a very few, and only succeeded in swelling the already heavy burden of taxation. Economy was sought by retrenchment in the civil service, hundreds of public servants being dispensed with, but this only helped to throw more men into the growing ranks of the unemployed and left the solution of the difficulty as far off as ever. The labor party who after many years of untiring struggle had got a very numerous representation in the legislature, were powerless to tear down the strong vested interests arrayed against them as they had hoped to do, and were as ignorant of the ultimate causes of the terrible depression which was threatening to break up society as they were divided in opinion as to the wisest expedients to tide over the present difficulties; as to a radical and permanent cure, they did not dare to entertain the thought of it.

The streets of Melbourne were thronged with men in vain search of employment; there were a few of the genuine genus “loafer” amongst them, but the great mass were strong; steady, worthy fellows, anxious and willing to work, but with no work that they might put their hands to. It was estimated that they numbered no less than 50,000 persons. And yet it was pointed out that, by the statistics of Hayter's “Year Book,” the Colony was wealthier than it had ever been before; in fact, it had become in proportion to its size, one of the wealthiest countries in the world. But despite this fact, the very employers themselves were beginning to share the fate of the wretched workers; bankruptcies were, increasing daily, shop after shop was closing its shutters, merchants were reducing their imports and farmers ceasing to send their products to market for want of buyers. Some of the largest firms in the city, which had always been felt to be as stable as the Government itself, found themselves compelled to suspend operations, and in many cases to give up their entire estate, thus throwing thousands out to starve.

The climax was reached when, on the day before out story opens, the gigantic firm of Goldschmidt, Beere and Co. had dismissed their entire staff at the shortest notice, and men, women and children were rendered workless, homeless and without prospect of food before them.

II

It was not long before Harry reached the spot where the Monster Indignation Labor Meeting was being held. There were already a large number present and fresh visitors continued to arrive until the meeting had assumed larger dimensions than any other that had ever been held in Melbourne, and it yet wanted several minutes to the time when the proceedings were to commence. It was with some difficulty that Harry managed to elbow his way through the crowd to the lorry which was in readiness for the speakers of the evening to “orate” from; but at last, amidst loud cheering, he-mounted the “platform” along with the others. The sight was one calculated to cheer the heart of any enthusiast who longed to see the workers strive for a higher social level than the one they now occupied. The lorry stood some fifty yards from the footpath, in the centre of a large block of land where several immense stores had stood only a few months before. On both sides and behind, were thousands of working men, many of whom had their wives and children with them; and away in front, stretching right across Flinders Street, until traffic was well-nigh impeded, the immense ocean of proletaires stretched forth in its rugged grandeur. Harry felt strange sensation pass over him as he beheld this extraordinary sight. Here and there were policemen mixing up in the crowd and preserving “order,” while down the street were a few dozen mounted troopers. But these were; such a mere handful, compared with the great mass of working people present, that they attracted little attention. On the lorry were about twenty other men besides Harry, and a remarkable assortment of physiognomies they presented. One big fellow, with firm set limbs, rather dark complexion and heavy frowning brow, was perhaps the most noticeable of all; but alongside him was a remarkable little fellow, fussing about and gesticulating to those about him, and acting as though he fancied himself the host of those present. This strange personage caught one's eye at a glance—his peculiar attire, somewhat resembling that of the French peasantry, his small limbs, his big bullet head out of all proportion to the rest of the body, and his bull-like neck, all showed him to he a man of unusual characteristics, and did not favorably impress a spectator upon first seeing him; but when one looked closer into his face, and saw the cunning, piercing little eyes, the big, sharply-cut and thin-lipped mouth, and the strained effort at a permanent smile, which, like Harte's Heathen Chinee, was “child-like and bland” to a degree, the interest in this little individual became intense, and made one almost forget the presence of the Herculean agitator beside him. On the precise moment that the Post Office clock in Elizabeth Street chimed seven o'clock, the big man arose to his feet to address the meeting. Loud applause and ringing hurras greeted him from thousands of throats. When the deafening noise had subsided he addressed them as follows:—“Comrades, in the war of labor against the tyranny of capital (loud applause), it is with pleasure that I can't express that I open this mighty meeting, a meeting which I hope and believe will never be forgotten in the history of human progress (hear, hear, and bravo), a meeting that is not summoned like its predecessors to talk, and talk, and never do more than talking, but a meeting that is resolved to strike the final blow at the monster of capitalism which is devouring us (vociferous applause). We are here to-night, friends, not to ask our rights—we have done that too long already—we are here to take our stand as men and women, and to enter into a fight to the death for a world which has been stolen from us and which awaits us under our very feet” (tremendous cheering and hooraying interrupted the speaker, who presently proceeded), We are here, I say, to fight the greatest fight in all history, not to repeat the little petty contest between a few thousand English and Russian warriors, or to lead the hired butchers of Germany to cut the throats of the hired butchers of France; we are not here to massacre Afghans, Egyptians, Zulus, or Maories; we are not here to perpetuate the senseless feuds between nations and nations, between creeds and castes, or between race and color; but we are here to affirm the unity of all humanity, to assert that in the future the world shall only know one race, one people, one country, without creeds or colors to disunite them; and we are here to assert the dominion of the people and the final subjugation of the race of luxurious vampires who have held them in bondage since the dawn of civilization (loud applause). We are here to protest against the fiendish inhumanity of the Goldschmidt Beere and Co's (hisses and groaning), and to avenge ourselves upon their kind the whole world over. Permit me, comrades, to call upon the first speaker, Samuel Sharples.”

An intelligent-looking young fellow here arose, and after the applause following the oration of the last speaker had subsided, he spoke, with considerable emotion, as follows:—

“Friends, you have heard what our worthy chairman, Tom Treadway, has said, and I am afraid any words of mine will sound very dull after his fiery eloquence (cries of “No”, “no”), but I should be ashamed of myself if I did not do all in my power to help the cause of labor in this awful period of distress and death. Why do we have all these troubles year after year? Have we not a government to protect us, and to look after our welfare? True, they don't do so; but that, I am afraid, is our own fault (cries of “No,” and interruption). Well, friends, I think it is so. We put bad men to rule over us, and then wonder why they rob us and compel us to be idle; we should send men to represent us who would know our interests and look after them. We want the land of the people thrown open to the use of the people (hear, hear); we want all the capital and machinery to be in the hands of the State instead of in the hands of private parasites; we want to tax the absentee and the land-grabber instead of taxing the poorly-paid laborer; we want—” Here someone interjected “We're tired of wanting,” and a restless chain of interruption made itself gradually felt over the meeting, entirely drowning the voice of the speaker, who was compelled to resume his seat on the lorry.

Treadway then announced that Harry Holdfast would next address the meeting.

Harry was up in a moment. His familiar face was greeted with the most enthusiastic applause. “Friends,” said he, “and foes, if any are present, we are met as the chairman has said, to open the greatest war the world has ever seen (hear, hear), but are we to come out victors or vanquished? (“Victors” was echoed from some thousand throats). Let us hope so. The great Shakespeare has said, ‘Beware of entrance to a quarrel, but being in't, bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee,’ and I feel that we are now in such a quarrel; long have we feared to enter it—for centuries have we and our forefathers groaned beneath injustice and oppression, but we can wait no longer; the blight of capital is fast crushing us out of existence, our wives and children are dying in front of us because we cannot, we dare not win the bread with which to sustain their lives. We have not courted the quarrel; we are in the thick of the fight; capital has its knee upon our throat and is fast strangling the breath from our bodies. Shall we longer endure it? (loud cries of “No”) No, friends, let us bear our quarrel; and let us bear it like true men and women, that those who oppose may admire our courage and determination, and fear our strength, our numbers, and our undying resolve to be free (enthusiastic applause). But how are we to be free? Shall we wait for freedom with our arms folded? Shall we follow the advice of friend Sharples and ask our wealthy oppressors to tax themselves instead of us? (cries “No”) Shall we ask them to free the land when they all exist by keeping it from us, and making us work upon it for their profit because they call it theirs? No, comrades, we are truly told that ‘God helps those who help themselves,’ and we need never hope to be free while we wait for others to set us free; we must free ourselves (applause). The actions of Goldschmidt, Beere &. Co (loud groans) I was about to say that the action of that firm in dismissing their hands, cruel as it is in its effects; upon us, was inevitable under the conditions in which we all live. They dared not do otherwise. You or I in their place must have done the same (cries of “No, no,” and interruption). You disbelieve me friends, but I can assure you it is as I say. Had they not closed yesterday, in a few weeks at most their creditors would have compelled them to close, for their stores are glutted with the goods which we have made, and we, the workers, who should be their principal customers, as we embrace the greater part of the population, have no money to purchase our requirements of them and thus to provide them the revenue with which they pay their own debts (hear, hear). No, friends, we have entered on the labor war, but let us fight to win. Let us get the tools with which we work into the hands of us who use them, instead of letting them bring the revenue to those who work not to create it—I refer to the capitalists. We must learn—and learn immediately—how to co-operate together so as to secure the products of our labor for ourselves, to peacefully acquire possession of the lands which legal robbery has despoiled us of, and to become independent of the speculative individual who under pretext of lending us the requisite machinery with which to work for our own benefit, dips his hand deep into our pockets, depriving us of nearly all we have produced, and makes us the wretched slave of his accursed gold.”

The chairman next called upon Felix Slymer, the remarkable little bullet-headed agitator who sat next to him, and whom we have already briefly described. The applause that greeted this intimation was simply astounding. If the other speakers were popular, Slymer was more than popular—he was their very idol.

Gently rising to his feet, he softly stroked together his delicate and flabby little hands, apparent strangers to toil from their appearance, and slowly bowing before before them he delivered himself deliberately and in a markedly simulating manner of the following:—“Mr. Chairman, fellow Proletaires, Ladies and Gentlemen,—It is with the greatest pleasure that I note the unusual warm with which you greet my appearance. I feel it keenly. It gives me confidence. It tells me that you repose in me the confidence I have in you. I trust I shall be worthy of your esteem (Hear, hear, and cries of “You are worthy,” &c.). Well friends, I again thank you for your kind opinion of me; and I must now tell you what I think, and what I feel, and what I intend to do in the present desperate crisis. That it is desperate you all know as well as I do. Absolute slavery is not worse than it. This wage-slavery we are suffering under our bourgeoisie system of cut-throat competition is worse than death itself. But what are we to do? I agree with friend Sharples that we want worthy men to represent us (a cry, “We want you there”). Thanks, friend, but I am afraid I am not so worthy: I only wish I were. But when do we get proper representation? Never. All we get is representation of the squatters, the bankers, the swindling syndicates, the Jewish sweaters, the land sharks, and all who represent the vested interests of the time. Our present governments are rotten—rotten to the core; we need hope for nothing from them. But can we hope for anything from those co-operative ‘castles in the air’ that our individualistic friend, Holdfast, is recommending us? No; they're the panacea of the capitalist, a bone that the bourgeoisie throws out of his mansion window to keep the starving dog of labor quiet. If it were not an insult, I would almost think that Holdfast is in the hands of the capitalists, and is employed by them to draw co-operation as a red herring across our trail to take us off the scent. No, friends, we mustn't be deceived by these bogus remedies. We must strike the tree at its root. We must meet like with like. The present government is in armed force against the people. Soft words and co-operative stores can't resist jails and bullets. We must meet force with force. (Here a group of gruff-voiced followers of Slymer grunted assent, and the great part of the meeting applauded). Yes, we must arm ourselves; we must train our unemployed and drill them as soldiers that they may fight the hired soldiers of the capitalists and defend the homes of the laborers against the deadly fire of the paid murderers in the employ of our bureaucratic government. We must teach them how to make explosives, and to use them; (applause, dissent, and serious interruptions now kept increasing and the speaker's voice was only heard at intervals)—we must drive them into——” (rest of sentence lost in the uproar)——“capitalistic hounds must be swept into ——,” “dynamite and other——” “capture and hang or burn the ——,” these, and a similar lot of detached phrases were heard above the uproar, which had now become terrific; but nothing could be distinctly understood that the speaker was uttering.

Suddenly the police moved forward, and ordered the lorry and its occupants to disperse before further trouble was caused by their inflammatory utterances. A great rush ensued. The din was terrific. Large crowds of soldiers were seen hurriedly marching up St. Kilda Road headed by torches, and mounted police were gathering in immense numbers in all directions. The driver of the lorry, fearing danger, instantly turned his horses heads, and endeavoured to make for the street, which he gained after considerable delay and difficulty. No sooner had he reached Russell Street than he turned up to escape the crowd; but they followed him. The scene now became one of wild confusion, and it was with difficulty that the powerful horses managed to draw their burdens up the steep hill owing to the surging mass pressing and swaying so heavily against it, many being thrown down and trampled to death by one another, and numbers falling under the wheels of the lorry. Upon arriving at the corner of Collins Street further progress became absolutely impossible. The crowd had now increased by thousands, and rumours were all over the city bringing fresh throngs to the scene. No horse, or no body of horses, could possibly force its way through the immense wall of humanity that came surging up from Bourke Street. One would think that all Victoria had come to witness the indescribable scene.

Seeing that they could make no further retreat the occupants of the lorry held council together as to what they should do under the extraordinary circumstances. The general feeling was to quietly leave the wagon, one at a time, and silently disperse to their homes; but Felix Slymer would not hear of such a thing. He charged them with cowardice, and said that those who were so anxious to fight capital were trying to flee at the first sniff of danger. This rebuke was too much, and they decided to remain.

Taking in the state of affairs, and noticing the perplexity of the labor leaders, Slymer instantly brought himself “in evidence” before the crowd. Hastily rising to his legs, he once more addressed the masses of people who thronged the streets, urging them to resist this “unwarranted breach of discipline on the part of the officials” as he called it, and inciting them to deeds of violence to redress this wrong; he called, in the name of justice, upon those who had been “spoliated” by the capitalists to take their revenge and “loot the shops of the Collins Street aristocracy.” Instantly a rush was made down the street, shutters were torn down, windows smashed with the broken shutters, and the jewellers' and other shops were burst open. A cry was raised “To the banks!” and large numbers rushed for these time-honored representatives of vested interests, but they were too firmly constructed to be burst open, and the crowds returned to the shops of the “small-fry” capitalists. The police and the troopers were powerless to stop the furious onslaught of the people, although they mercilessly beat them with their batons and their swords until wounded and dying rioters were lying about in all directions.

While all this was going on, the lorry remained in its old place, and the great mass of the crowd stayed around it, and hopelessly hemmed it in, while Slymer continued his oration calling on the people to resist force with force. Suddenly Slymer disappeared, and it was thought he had been violently kidnapped by an agent of the capitalists. Harry, noticing his disappearance, hastened to fill his place, and stepping forward on the lorry he cried out “Friends, be calm. There is some treachery here. Let us disperse.” But he spoke too late.

All at once, the mayor of the city appeared, armed with a sheet of paper which turned out to be the Riot Act, and he appeared to read from it, although no one, not even himself, could hear a word of it, and no sooner had he done than a general rush was made by the police and a number of civilians upon the occupants of the lorry. Men were fighting each other indiscriminately. Women and children were screaming and fainting, and the horses plunging about wildly and trampling many many poor wretches to death. All of a sudden a series of terrific explosions occurred, shaking the earth like an earthquake and causing the steeple of one of the neighbouring churches to fall on the heads of a number of unfortunate victims beneath. Instantly there was a stoppage of the firing and fighting. All seemed to think that the world had come to its long-expected end, and gazed awe-stricken at each other in the sickly glare of the few torches that still continued to be held aloft. Recovering their presence of mind, and taking advantage of the temporary astonishment of the crowd, the police rushed for the occupants of the lorry, and after serious fighting, with the assistance of the soldiery, they captured eleven of them and, with considerable difficulty, marched them off in custody to the watchhouse where they were securely lodged.

The effect was marvellous. All the fighting ceased instantly. The crowd, having lost their leaders, seemed to have lost their hopes. Their frantic fury gave place to anxious fear. Slowly the streets commenced to assume their former appearance, the throng dispersed, the torches ceased to lend their ghastly glare to the ghastly scene; and although thousands continued to hang about the streets during the whole of the night, the greater part wended their way to their homes to brood in silence over the terrible drama they had been the unexpected witnesses of.

“It's late now, and Harry not yet home, I fear my worst suspicions are realized, mother,” said John Holdfast that night.

“Oh, don’t fear,” said the old lady, “Harry is certainly a rash young fellow, and a foolish chap to bother about other people's troubles when he always gets constant work himself, but he's not likely to get into any serious trouble. He's too temperate and cool-headed for that.”

But Harry lay in the cell along with his comrades, waiting to he tried on a charge of murder.

III

It was a beautiful spring morning that followed the events depicted in the last chapter. The sky was clear, the air fresh and bracing, the sun delightfully warm without being oppressive. In fact, everything seemed cheerful and contented, except man. Even he, poor wretched mortal, was more or less influenced by the invigorating weather, and was in a better mood than he might otherwise have been. For the worst man amongst us is not wholly insensible to good surrounding influences, whatever theorists may say to the contrary.

It was on this cheerful morning that a young man might be seen walking, or rather slinking along some of the smaller streets of the city, availing himself of the many little rights-of-way and semi-private thorough , as though to escape observation, until he reached a certain little cottage in the western end of Little Lonsdale Street, where he suddenly halted, and anxiously looked round him, as though fearful of being observed. Evidently seeing no one about, he pulled a little note book from his pocket, looked at the number on the door, as though to make sure that it tallied with the one in the book, and then gently stepped forward and knocked at the door. Presently a somewhat elderly man opened it, and without a word passing between them the visitor entered and the door was instantly closed behind him.

“Well, Slymer,” said the host, as soon as his visitor was seated, “did you do as I instructed you?”

“Yes,” was the curt reply.

Felix Slymer, without further ceremony, pulled out some papers from his pocket and handed them to his friend, who very carefully perused them, while the little eyes of his visitor were busily employed in taking in a very exhaustive view of the apartment in which he was waiting.

Presently the elderly man folded up the papers, placed them carefully in his pocket, and turning to Slymer, said:

“That will do, Slymer; you have faithfully performed your mission, and here is your reward.”

Slymer's eyes glistened, as his flabby hands clutched the ten bright sovereigns that were handed to him; but there was not that expression of glee that one would expect to see exhibited by one of so humble an appearance upon receipt of such a relatively large sum. Having carefully deposited the money in a secret pocket in the inner lining of his vest—he considered it unbecoming or inexpedient for one in his position to be seen using a purse—he was about to withdraw, when the other suddenly called him over to him.

“Felix,” said he, “I wish to ask you something before you go.”