Book: The Eureka Stockade

C >> Carboni Raffaello >> The Eureka Stockade




"Disappointed, in bad health, and worse spirits, I tramped for Ballaarat,
where I found that my tent, on the Eureka, had been robbed of everything
that was worth literally a sixpence--cradle, two tubs, digging tools,
cooking utensils, all gone, even my very blankets! and, of course, all my
little gold in specimens and dust, as well as my belt with money in it.

"From my account-book I can positively say, that on the fatal morning I
was arrested, the money I had on my possession, and what I had in my tent
in real cash, was 49 pounds. ALL OF WHICH I had earned by the sweat of
my brow, honestly, through downright hard work.

"During the whole of last season, on the Eureka, who was the first every
morning, between four and five to sing out 'Great works?' Who was the last
dilly-dallying at the cradle after sunset? I appeal to my fellow-diggers,
and with confidence.

"Brooding over the strange ups and down of life, I found some consolation
in the hearty cheers with which I was saluted at the Adelphi Theatre for
my song--

'When Ballaarat unfurled the Southern Cross;'

and I had the peculiar sensation on that particular night to lie down on
my stretcher very hungry!

"'Heu mihi! pingui quam macer est mihi taurus in arvo!' and it must be
acknowledged that it would have been paying an honest and educated man
a better compliment if my neighbours on the Eureka had found less
edification in witnessing my nice snug tent converted into a gambling
house by day, and a brothel by night. A sad reflection! however merry
some scoundrels may have made in getting drunk with my private brandy
in the tent.

"Never mind! the diggers have now a legion of friends. So I prevailed on
myself to tell, half-a-dozen times over to most of the 'well-disposed
and independent' yabber-yabber leaders on Ballaarat, how I had been robbed
at the Camp, how for my sorrows every mortal thing had been stolen from my
tent, and concluded with the remark, 'that in each case the thieves were
neither Vandemonians nor Chinese.'

"I met with grand sympathy in 'words,' superlatively impotent even to move
for the restitution of my watertight boots!

"Hurrah! glorious things will be told of thee, Victoria!

"These waterhole skippers, who afford buzzing and bamboozling when the
rainbow dazzles their dull eyes, bask in their 'well-affected' brains,
the flaring presumption that 'shortly' there will be a demand for sheeps'
heads! (Great works!) and pointing at several of us, it is given unto them
to behold with glory 'the end of men whose word is their bond!'

"(Great works!)

"Let us sing with Horace--

TUNE--Old Style.


Quando prosperus et jucundus,
Amicorum es fecundus,
Si fortuna perit,
Nullus amicus erit.
Chorus--Cives! Cives!
Querenda pecunia primum,
Post nummos virtus.

"Which in English may mean this--


'A friend in need is a friend indeed,' that's true,
But love now-a-days is left on the shelf,
The best of friends, by G---- in serving you
Takes precious care first to help himself.
Ancestors, learning, talent, what we call
Virtue, religion--MONEY beats them all.

"I must now try the power of my old quill, perhaps it has not lost
the spell--

"In Rome, by my position in society, and thorough knowledge of the English
language, I was now and then of service to Englishmen THERE; in my
adversity is there a generous-hearted Englishman HERE who would give me
the hand and see that the government enjoins the restitution of the
property I was robbed of at the Camp. Let the restitution come from a
Board of Inquiry, a Poor-law Board, a Court-Martial, or any Board except
a Board (full) of Petitions. The eternal petitioning looks so 'Italian'
to me! And, especially, let the restitution of my new water-tight boots
be done this winter!

"As for the ignominy I was subjected to, my immense sufferings during four
long, long months in gaol, the prospects of my life smothered for a while,
we had better leave that alone for the present.

"Were I owned by the stars and stripes, I should not require assistance,
of course not; unhappily for the sins of my parents, I was born under
the keys which verily open the gates of heaven and hell; but Great Britain
changed the padlocks long ago! hence the dreaded 'Civis Romanus sum'
has dwindled into 'bottomed on mullock.'

"CARBONI RAFFAELLO,
"By the grace of spy Goodenough Captain of Foreign Anarchist.
"Prince Albert Hotel, Ballaarat,
"Corpus Christi, 1855."

-----

No one did condescend to notice the above letter. I do not wonder
at it, and why?

I read in the Saturday's issue of 'The Star', Ballaarat, October 6th,
1855, how a well-known digger and now a J.P., did, in a
'Ballaarat smasher,' toast the good exit of a successful money-maker--an
active, wide-awake man of business certainly, but nothing else to the
diggers of Ballaarat--'Cela n'est pas tout-a-fait comme chez nous.'




Chapter XCVIII.



Sunt Tempora Nostra!
That Is The Following From Toorak.


Colonial Secretary's Office, Melbourne,
October 8th, 1855.

Sir,--Advertising to your correspondence (September 30th), in reply to my
letter of the 20th ultimo, I am directed by His Excellency to state that
government are compelled to adhere to fixed rules--THEY BY NO MEANS DOUBT
THE VERACITY OF YOUR STATEMENT, but they have a duty to the public to
perform, which imposes the necessity of never granting money in
compensation, except when the clearest evidence of the loss is given,
and that a personal statement no matter by whom given, is never accepted
as sufficient testimony.

I have the honour to be,
SIR,
J. MOORE, A.C.S."
(To) Mr. CARBONI RAFFAELLO,
Gravel-pits, Ballaarat-flat.

-----

A 'Cheer-up' written for the MAGPIE of BALLAARAT, perched on the Southern
Cross Hotel, Magpie-gully.

No more from MOORE;
Too dear! his store.
Hang the 'Compensation:'
Speak of 'RESTITUTION!'
'Do not steal!'
'Restiuere?'
's an old Institution,
Popish innovation.
CHORUS.
COO-HEE! Great works at Toorak!
COO-HEE! Keep clear of th' WOOL-pack.


WATERLOOBOLTER CHIMES.
SIP sop stir-up Toorak small beer
do si la sol fa me re do
Nip nap wash down chops nacks oh! dear.




Chapter XCIX.



Suppose I give now the kind (!) answer from Police-inspector HENRY FOSTER!
it will give general satisfaction, I think:-


Police Department,
Ballaarat, Nov. 2, 1854.

Sir,--In reply to your communication, dated 26th ultimo, on the subject of
your having been deprived of your clothing during your arrest at this
Camp, in December, 1855 [I think, Mr. Foster, it was in 1854] I have the
honour to inform you, that to the best of my recollection, the clothing
you wore when you were brought to the Camp consisted of a wide-awake hat,
or cap, a red shirt, corduroy or moleskin trousers, and a pair of boots.

Of these articles, the cap, shirt, and boots were put amongst the surplus
clothing taken from the other prisoners, and I am not aware how they were
disposed of afterwards.

I must add, that the shirt alluded to was made of wool, under which you
wore a cotton one, the latter of which you retained during your
confinement.

I have the honour to be, Sir,
Your obedient servant,
HENRY FOSTER,
Inspector of Police.

(To) SIGNOR CARBONI RAFFAELLO.
Ballaarat.

-----

My money is not mentioned though! Very clever: and yet I know it was not
Foster who did rob me.

However, good reader, if you believe that a Ballaarat miner, of sober
habits and hard at work, has not got about his person, say a couple of
one pound rags, well...there let's shut up the book at once, and here
is the

END


P.S. If John Bull, cross-breed or pure blood, had been robbed in Italy,
half less wantonly, and twice less cruelly, than myself, the whole British
press and palaver 'in urbe or orbe terrarum' would have rung the chimes
against Popish gendarmes and the holy (!) inquisition of the scarlet city.
So far so good.

A friendless Italian is ROBBED under arrest on British ground, close by
the British flag, by British troopers and traps: oh! that alters the case.

What business have these foreign beggars to come and dig for gold on
British Crown lands?

BASTA COSI; 'that is', Great works!




Chapter C.



WANTED--Stuff, Anyhow, For The Last Chapter.


If 'The Age', always foremost in the cause of the digger, never mind his
language or colour; if 'The Argus' would drop the appending 'a foreigner'
to my name, and extend even unto me the old motto 'fair-play;' if
'The Herald' would set up the pedestal for me whom it has erected as a
'MONUMENT OF GRATITUDE;' I say, if the gentlemen Editors of the Melbourne
Press, on the score of my being an old Collaborateur of the European
Press, would for once give a pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether,
to drag out of the Toorak small-beer jug, the correspondence on the above
matter between

1. SIR CHARLES HOTHAM, K.C.B.
2. W. C. HAINES, C.S.
3. W. FOSTER STAWELL, A.G.
4. Mr. STURT, Police Magistrate.
5. W. H. ARCHER, A.R.G.
6. CAPTAIN M`MAHON.
7. POLICE-INSPECTOR H. FOSTER.
8. Another whom I detest to name, and
9. SIGNOR CARBONI RAFFAELLO, M.L.C. of Ballaarat,

it would astonish the natives, teach what emigration is, and I believe
the colony at large would be benefited by it.

There are scores of cases similar to mine, and more important by far,
because widows and orphans are concerned in them. 'Sunt tempora nostra!'

Master Punch, do join the chorus; spirited little dear! won't you give a
lift to Great-works? Spare not, young chip, or else, the jackasses in the
Australian bush will breed as numerous as the locusts in the African desert.

It is not FEAR that makes me shake at chapters XCII and XCIII.
Good reader, to the last line of this book, my quill shall stick to my
word as given in the first chapter. Hence, for the present, this is the
LAST. Put by carefully the pipe, we may want it again: meanwhile,
FAREWELL.

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