The red-coats were now ordered to 'fall in;' their bloody work was over,
and were marched off, dragging with them the 'Southern Cross.'
Their dead, as far as I did see, were four, and a dozen wounded,
including Captain Wise, the identical one, I think whom I speak of in relating
the events of Tuesday evening, November 28.
Dead and wounded had been fetched up in carts, waiting on the road, and all
red-things hastened to Ballaarat. The following is for the edification of all
the well-affected and well-disposed of the present and future generation:-
V. R.
NOTICE.
Government Camp,
Ballaarat, Dec. 3rd, 1854.
Her Majesty's forces were this morning fired upon by a
large body of evil-disposed persons of various nations,
who had entrenched themselves in a stockade on the
Eureka, and some officers and men killed.
Several of the rioters have paid the penalty of their
crime, and a large number are in custody.
All well-disposed persons are earnestly requested to
return to their ordinary occupations, and to abstain
from assembling in large groups, and every protection
will be afforded to them by the authorities.
ROBT. REDE,
Resident Commissioner.
God save the Queen.
Chapter LVIII.
Veritatem Dico Non Menitor.
Here begins a foul deed, worthy of devils, and devils they were.
The accursed troopers were now within the stockade. They dismounted,
and pounced on firebrands from the large fire on the middle of the stockade,
and deliberately set in a blaze all the tents round about. I did see
with both eyes one of those devils, a tall, thick-shouldered, long-legged,
fast Vandemonian-looking trooper, purposely striking a bundle of matches,
and setting fire at the corner end, north of the very store of Diamond,
where we had kept the council for the defence. The howling and yelling
was horrible. The wounded are now burnt to death; those who had laid down
their arms, and taken refuge within the tents, were kicked like brutes,
and made prisoners.
At the burning of the Eureka Hotel, I expressed it to be my opinion that
a characteristic of the British race is to delight in the calamity of a fire.
The troopers, enjoying the fun within the stockade, now spread it without.
The tent next to mine (Quinn's) was soon in a blaze. I collected in haste
my most important papers, and rushed out to remonstrate against such
a wanton cruelty. Sub-inspector Carter pointing with his pistol ordered me
to fall in with a batch of prisoners. There were no two ways: I obeyed.
In the middle of the gully, I expostulated with Captain Thomas,
he asked me whether I had been made a prisoner within the stockade.
"No, sir," was my answer. He noticed my frankness, my anxiety and grief.
After a few words more in explanation, he, giving me a gentle stroke
with his sword, told me "If you really are an honest digger, I do not want you,
sir; you may return to your tent."
Mr. Gordon - of the store of Gordon and M`Callum, on the left of the gully,
near the stockade - who had been made prisoner, and was liberated in the same
way, and at the same time as myself, was and is a living witness to the above.
On crossing the gully to return to my tent, an infernal trooper trotting
on the road to Ballaarat, took a deliberate aim at me, and fired
his Minie rifle pistol with such a tolerable precision, that the shot
whizzed and actually struck the brim of my cabbage-tree hat, and blew it
off my head. Mrs. Davis, who was outside her tent close by,
is a living witness to the above.
At this juncture I was called by name from Doctor Carr, and Father Smyth,
directed me by signs to come and help the wounded within the stockade.
Chapter LIX.
Quis Dabit Capiti Meo, Aquam Et Oculis Meis Fontem
Lacrymarum Et Plorabo Die Ac Nocte!
I hastened, and what a horrible sight! Old acquaintances crippled with shots,
the gore protruding from the bayonet wounds, their clothes and flesh burning
all the while. Poor Thonen had his mouth literally choked with bullets;
my neighbour and mate Teddy More, stretched on the ground, both his thighs
shot, asked me for a drop of water. Peter Lalor, who had been concealed
under a heap of slabs, was in the agony of death, a stream of blood
from under the slabs, heavily forcing its way down hill.
The tears choke my eyes, I cannot write any further.
Americans! your Doctor Kenworthy was not there, as he should have been,
according to Humffray's letter.
Catholics! Father Smyth was performing his sacred duty to the dying, in spite
of the troopers who threatened his life, and forced him at last to desist.
Protestants! spare us in future with your sabbath cant. Not one of your
ministers was there, helping the digger in the hour of need.
John Bull! you wilfully bend your neck to any burden for palaver and war
to protect you in your universal shop-keeping, and maintain your sacred rights
of property; but human life is to you as it was to Napoleon: for him,
fodder for the cannon; for you, tools to make money. A dead man needs
no further care, and human kind breeds fast enough everywhere after all, -
'Cetera quando rursum scribam'.
On my reaching the stockade with a pannikin of water for Teddy, I was amazed
at the apathy showed by the diggers, who now crowded from all directions
round the dead and wounded. None would stir a finger.
All on a sudden a fresh swarm of troopers cleared the stockade of all moving
things with the mere threat of their pistols.
All the diggers scampered away and entered all available tents, crouching
within the chimneys or under stretchers. The valorous, who had given
such a proof of their ardour in smothering with stones, bats, and broken
bottles, the 12th Regiment on their orderly way from Melbourne on Tuesday,
November 28, at the same identical spot on the Eureka, now allowed themselves
to be chained by dozens, by a handful of hated traps, who, a few days before,
had been kept at bay on the whole of the diggings, by the mere shouting
of 'Joe!' A sad reflection, indeed; a very sad reflection.
