Book: The Eureka Stockade

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Sly-grog sellers got also a little profit out of the Eureka Stockade.
A fellow was selling nobblers out of a keg of brandy hanging from his neck.
It required Peter Lalor in person to order this devil-send out of the stockade.

'Press for,' was the order of the hour. Two men on horseback were crossing
the gully below. Young Black--the identical one with a red shirt and blue cap,
who took down the names round Lalor's stump, on Bakery-hill on
Thursday morning, and who, to the best of my knowledge never had yet been
within the stockade--came out of the committee-room, and hastened up to me
with the order to pick out some men and press those two horses in.

I gave him a violent look, and made him understand that 'I won't do
the bushranger yet.' The order was however executed by fresh hands
entirely unknown to me, who rushed towards the horsemen, shouted to both
of them to stop, and with the threat of the revolver compelled them
to ride their horses within the stockade. I felt disgusted at the violence.

The reign of terror will not strike root among Britons because the
Austrian rule does not thrive under the British flag; and so here is
a crab-hole that brave Lalor alone can properly log up.

I asked in German from Vern the 'pass-word,' and on whispering 'Vinegar-hill'
to the sentinels, I was allowed to get out of the Stockade.

"Nein, sagte ich mirselbst, nein, eine solche eckliche Wirthschaft
habe ich noch nie geseh'n.

"Nom d'un nom! c'est affreux. Ces malheureuf sont-ils donc possedes?

"Odi profanum vulgus et arceo.

"Por vida deDios! por supuesto jo fuera el Duke de Alba, esos Gavachos,
carajo, yo los pegaria de bueno.

"Che casa del diavolo, per Dio! Che ti pare! niente meno si spalanca
l'inferno. Alla larga! Sor Fattorone: Pronti denari, Fan patti chiari.
Minca coglione!"

Such were more or less the expressions to give vent to my feelings
on my way to the Prince Albert Hotel, Bakery-hill, to meet there a friend
or two, especially my old mate, Adolphus Lessman, Lieutenant of the Rifle-men.




Chapter LIII.



Turbatus Est A Furore Oculus Meus.


The following is the scene, so characteristic of the times, as it was
going on at the Prince Albert:--

"Who's the landlord here?" was the growl from a sulky ruffian,
some five feet high, with the head of a bull-dog, the eyes of a vulture,
sunken in a mass of bones, neglected beard, sun-burnt, grog-worn,
as dirty as a brute,--the known cast, as called here in this colony,
of a 'Vandemonian,' made up of low, vulgar manners and hard talk,
spiked at each word, with their characteristic B, and infamous B again;
whilst a vile oath begins and ends any of their foul conceits. Their glory
to stand oceans of grog, joined to their benevolence of 'shouting'
for all hands, and their boast of black-eye giving, nose-smashing,
knocking in of teeth, are the three marks of their aristocracy.
Naturally cowards, they have learned the secret that 'Pluck,' does just as well
for their foul jobs. Grog is pluck, and the more grog they swallow,
the more they count on success. Hence their frame, however robust by nature,
wears out through hard drink, and goes the way of all flesh, rarely with
grey hairs. It is dangerous to approach them; they know the dodge
how to pick up a quarrel for the sake of gratifying their appetite
for fighting. You cannot avoid them in this colony; they are too numerous.
I saw hundreds of these Vandemonians, during my four months in gaol.
Their heart must be of the same stuff as that of vultures, because they are
of the same trade. In a word, they are the living witnesses among us,
of the terrible saying of Isaiah, 'The heart of man is desperately wicked.'

Through such did Satan plant his standard to rule this southern land,
before Christ could show his Cross; hence, before famous Ballaarat could point
at a barn, and call it a church, on the township, old Satan had three palaces
to boast of, the first of which--a match for any in the world--has made
the landlord as wealthy and proud as a merchant-prince of the City of London.
'Non ex illis Mecoenates,'--that's the secret how this land has produced
so many first-rate bullock-drivers.

The scene at the Prince Albert is now more interesting.




Chapter LIV.



In Vino Veritas.


The Vandemonian was, of course, accompanied by nine more of his pals,
all of them armed to the teeth with revolvers, swords, pikes, and knives.

Carl Wiesenhavern, a man of noble character, and, therefore a man who hates
knavery, and has no fear of a knave, answered with his peculiar
German coolness, "Here I am, what do you want?"

"Nobblers round," was the eager reply.

"If that's what you want," replied Wiesenhavern, "you shall have it
with pleasure."

"We got no money."

"I did not ask for any: understand me well, though;" pointing at each of them
with the forefinger of his clenched right hand, "you will have a nobbler
a-piece, and no more: afterwards you will go your way. Are you satisfied
with my conditions?"

"Yes, yes! we agree to that: go on you b----."

Wiesenhavern scorned to notice the fellow, and, according to the old custom
of the house, placed two decanters of brandy, together with the tumblers,
on the bar, saying, "Help yourselves, gentlemen."

They fell at once upon the brandy, and their mean rascality was shown
by some seizing the glass and covering it with the full hand to conceal
their greediness. Nobbler-drinking is an old colonial habit; it gives pluck
to the coward when he is 'up to something;' so happened it with these fellows.

"Well, landlord, your brandy is d---d good--the real sort of stuff,
and no b----y mistake. You shouted nobblers round for all hands--that's
all right; it's no more than fair and square now for the boys to shout
for you:" and, with a horrible curse, "Fill up the bottles; let's have
another round."

Wiesenhavern kept himself quiet. One of the ruffians showed his intention
to enter the bar, and play the landlord within. Wiesenhavern coolly
persuaded him back by the promise he would fetch from his room,
"something rowdy, the right old sort of stuff--Champagne Cognac, 'tres vieux'."
The fellows presumed their 'bouncing' was all the go now, and laughed
and cursed in old colonial style.

Wiesenhavern fetched his pistols, and his partner, Johan Brandt,
a double-barrelled gun. Now Mr. Brandt is one of those short,
broad-shouldered, sound, dog-headed Germans, with such a determinate look
when his otherwise slow wrath is stirred up, that it is not advisable
to tackle with his fists, and much less with his rifle. Wiesenhavern,
with that precision of manners, which always gains the point on such occasions,
placed a decanter full of brandy on the bar, and, with cocked pistols
in both hands, said, "Touch it, if you dare; if any one among you got the pluck
to put in his tumbler one drop out of that bottle there, he is a dead man;"
and Mr. Brandt backed him by simply saying:-

"I'll shoot the fellow, like a dog."

What was the result? Of course the same, whenever you deal with knaves--
and you make them understand what you mean. They were cowed;
and as by this time, the high words had called in several old customers
of the house who wished well to it, because they knew it deserved it,
so the ruffians had to cut for fear of their own dear lives.

Then it was related with sorrow, that several similar bands were scouring
the gold-fields in all directions and in the name of the committee
of the Eureka stockade, under cover pressing for fire-arms and ammunition,
plundered the most respectable stores of all they could lay their hands upon.

One instance, as reported there and then by parties who had just witnessed
the transaction.

A similar gang, four strong, had entered the store of D. O'Conner,
on the Golden Point, and asked in the name of the committee, powder and shot,
but the vagabonds did not care so much for ammunition for their guns,
as for the stuff for their guts, what tempted them most was fine good
Yorkshire hams, and coffee to wash it down. In short, they ransacked
the whole store; and each took care of 'something,' the best of course,
and therefore the cash-box, worth some twenty pounds was not forgotten.

The above are facts. I do not assert that such were the orders
of the committee, got up after four o'clock of same Saturday at the Eureka
stockade. I had no part or portion in the committee, and know nothing
of it personally.




Chapter LV.



Non Sit Nobis Vanum, Mane Surgere Ante Lucem.


I ran up to the stockade to remonstrate with Peter Lalor, for whom I had
too much respect to think for one moment, that he had any hand, and much less
that he had sanctioned, such suicidal proceedings.

Thanks to the password; I entered within the stockade. It must have been
not far from midnight. I found everything comparatively quiet; the majority
were either asleep of warming themselves round the big fire. I spoke
in German face to face, for the last time, with Thonen. M`Gill and two-thirds
of the Independent Californian Rangers' Rifle Brigade, in accordance with
the avocation expressed in the title, were out 'starring' to intercept
reinforcements reported on the road from Melbourne. Nealson and his division
were off for the same purpose. Was their lot that of Lot's wife?

Sir Charles Hotham must have possessed the rod of Moses to convert the quartz
of Victoria into red coats, as numerous as the locusts that plagued
Pharaoh's land. The Local Court of Ballaarat should recommend His Excellency
to carry out the 'abolition of shepherding at Sebastopol.'

I asked Thonen to see Lalor. I was answered that Peter, from sheer exhaustion,
must rest for an hour or two, and was asleep.

Myself not having closed an eye since Thursday, I felt severely the want
of sleep. Is not sabbath-keeping our day's cant in the English language?
Anyhow it must be admitted, in justice to both silver and gold lace,
that they take it in good earnest: to keep the sabbath is a holy and wholesome
thing for them. I do not remember what was my frame of mind at the time
I wished Thonen good night; very probably, "Enough for the day, the morrow
will have its own troubles:" at any rate, Thonen gave word to the 'outposts,'
chiefly Californians to let me pass to my tent: and having thrown myself
on my stretcher, with every thing quiet round about, I soon fell asleep.

On the afternoon of Sunday, the following notice was posted up:-


V. R.
NOTICE.
No light will be allowed to be kept burning in any
tent within musket-shot of the line of sentries after
8 o'clock p.m. No discharge of fire-arms in the
neighbourhood of the Camp will be permitted for any
purpose whatever.
The sentries have orders to fire upon any person
offending against these rules.
(By order),
T. BAILEY RICHARDS,
Lieut. 40th Regt., Garrison Adjutant.




Chapter LVI.



Remember This Sabbath Day (December Third), To Keep It Holy.


I awoke. Sunday morning. It was full dawn, not daylight. A discharge
of musketry--then a round from the bugle--the command 'forward'--and another
discharge of musketry was sharply kept on by the red-coats (some 300 strong)
advancing on the gully west of the stockade, for a couple of minutes.

The shots whizzed by my tent. I jumped out of the stretcher and rushed
to my chimney facing the stockade. The forces within could not muster
above 150 diggers.

The shepherds' holes inside the lower part of the stockade had been turned
into rifle-pits, and were now occupied by Californians of the
I.C. Rangers' Brigade, some twenty or thirty in all, who had kept watch
at the 'out-posts' during the night.

Ross and his division northward, Thonen and his division southward,
and both in front of the gully, under cover of the slabs, answered
with such a smart fire, that the military who were now fully within range,
did unmistakably appear to me to swerve from their ground: anyhow the command
"forward" from Sergeant Harris was put a stop to. Here a lad was really
courageous with his bugle. He took up boldly his stand to the left
of the gully and in front: the red-coats 'fell in' in their ranks to the right
of this lad. The wounded on the ground behind must have numbered a dozen.

Another scene was going on east of the stockade. Vern floundered across
the stockade eastward, and I lost sight of him. Curtain whilst making coolly
for the holes, appeared to me to give directions to shoot at Vern;
but a rush was instantly made in the same direction (Vern's) and a whole pack
cut for Warrenheip.

There was, however, a brave American officer, who had the command
of the rifle-pit men; he fought like a tiger; was shot in his thigh
at the very onset, and yet, though hopping all the while, stuck to Captain Ross
like a man. Should this notice be the means to ascertain his name,
it should be written down in the margin at once.

The dragoons from south, the troopers from north, were trotting in full speed
towards the stockade.

Peter Lalor, was now on the top of the first logged-up hole within
the stockade, and by his decided gestures pointed to the men to retire
among the holes. He was shot down in his left shoulder at this identical
moment: it was a chance shot, I recollect it well.

A full discharge of musketry from the military, now mowed down all
who had their heads above the barricades. Ross was shot in the groin.
Another shot struck Thonen exactly in the mouth, and felled him on the spot.

Those who suffered the most were the score of pikemen, who stood their ground
from the time the whole division had been posted at the top, facing the
Melbourne road from Ballaarat, in double file under the slabs,
to stick the cavalry with their pikes.

The old command, "Charge!" was distinctly heard, and the red-coats rushed
with fixed bayonets to storm the stockade. A few cuts, kicks and pulling down,
and the job was done too quickly for their wonted ardour, for they actually
thrust their bayonets on the body of the dead and wounded strewed about
on the ground. A wild "hurrah!" burst out and 'the Southern Cross'
was torn down, I should say, among their laughter, such as if it had been
a prize from a May-pole.

Of the armed diggers, some made off the best way they could, others surrendered
themselves prisoners, and were collected in groups and marched down the gully.
The Indian dragoons, sword in hand, rifle-pistols cocked, took charge
of them all, and brought them in chains to the lock-up.




Chapter LVII.



Dirigat Dominus Reginum Nostram.


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.

Myself and a few neighbours now procured some stretchers, and at the direction
of Doctor Carr, converted the London Hotel into an hospital,
and took there the wounded.

Said Doctor Carr despatched me to fetch his box of surgical instruments
from Dr. Glendinning's hospital on Pennyweight-hill, a distance of a full mile.

I hastened to return, with Dr. Glendinning himself, and I did my best
to assist the helpless, and dress their wounds.

IMPORTANT--I must call the attention of my reader to the following fact:--
When I entered the stockade with Dr. Carr's surgical box, Mr. Binney,
an old acquaintance since the times of Canadian Gully, took me warmly
by the hand, and said, "Old fellow, I am glad to see you alive! everybody
thinks (pointing to a dead digger among the heap) that's poor Great Works!"

The state of mind in which I was, gave me no time to take much notice
of the circumstances, and must have answered, "Thank God, I am alive,"
and proceeded to my duty.

The identical Mr. Binney, of the firm of Binney and Gillot, now storekeepers
on the Ballaarat township, is a living witness to the above statement.

Solicitor Lynn told me, 'in propria persona' in the Ballaarat prison,
that he would take care to bring forward evidence of the above,
as he had heard it himself, that such was the case; but I forgot to fee
this Lynn, and so he left me to the chance of being 'lyn-ched.'




Chapter LX.



The Southern Cross, In Digger's Gore Imbrued,
Was Torn Away, And Left The Digger Mourning.


The following Letter, from the able pen of the spirited correspondent
of the 'Geelong Advertiser' who most undoubtedly must be a digger--that is,
one of ourselves, from among ourselves,--is here transcribed as a document
confirming the truths of this book:-


THE EUREKA MASSACRE
[From a Correspondent.]
To the Editor of the 'Geelong Advertiser' and Intelligencer.
Bakery-hill, December 3rd, 1854.

Friday you know all about; I will pass that over, and give you a faint outline
of what passed under my own eyes. During Saturday, there was a great deal
of gloom among the most orderly, who complained much of the parade of soldiery,
and the same cause excited a great deal of exasperation in the minds
of more enthusiastic persons, who declared that all parties ought to show
themselves, and declare whether they were for or against the diggers.
Then came a notice from the Camp, that all lights were to be extinguished
after eight o'clock, within half-a-mile from the Camp. At this time
it was reported that there were two thousand organised men at the Eureka
barricade. I was sitting in my tent, and several neighbours dropped in
to talk over affairs, and we sat down to tea, when a musket was heard
to go off, and the bullet whizzed close by us; I doused the light,
and we crept out on our hands and knees, and looked about. Between the Camp
and the barricade there was a fire we had not seen before, and occasionally
lights appeared to be hoisted, like signals, which attracted the attention
of a good many, some of whom said that they saw other lights like
return signals. It grew late. TO-MORROW, I FEAR ME, WILL PROVE A DAY
OF SORROW, IF THE AFFAIR BE NOT SETTLED BEFORE THEN. I and R---- lay down
in our clothes, according to our practice for a week past; and worn out
with perpetual alarms, excitement, and fatigue, fell fast asleep.
I didn't wake up till six o'clock on Sunday morning. The first thing
that I saw was a number of diggers enclosed in a sort of hollow square,
many of them were wounded, the blood dripping from them as they walked;
some were walking lame, pricked on by the bayonets of the soldiers
bringing up the rear. The soldiers were much excited, and the troopers
madly so, flourishing their swords, and shouting out--"We have waked up Joe!"
and others replied, "And sent Joe to sleep again!" The diggers' Standard
was carried by in triumph to the Camp, waved about in the air,
then pitched from one to another, thrown down and trampled on.
The scene was awful--twos and threes gathered together, and all felt stupefied.
I went with R---- to the barricade, the tents all around were in a blaze;
I was about to go inside, when a cry was raised that the troopers
were coming again. They did come with carts to take away the bodies,
I counted fifteen dead, one G----, a fine well-educated man, and a great
favourite. [Here, I think, the Correspondent alluded to me. My friends,
nick-named me--Carbonari Great works. ]--I recognised two others,
but the spectacle was so ghastly that I feel a loathing at the remembrance.
They all lay in a small space with their faces upwards, looking like lead,
several of them were still heaving, and at every rise of their breasts,
the blood spouted out of their wounds, or just bubbled out and trickled away.
One man, a stout-chested fine fellow, apparently about forty years old,
lay with a pike beside him: e had three contusions in the head,
three strokes across the brow, a bayonet wound in the throat under the ear,
and other wounds in the body--I counted fifteen wounds in that single carcase.
Some were bringing handkerchiefs, others bed furniture, and matting
to cover up the faces of the dead. O God! sir, it was a sight for
a sabbath morn that, I humbly implore Heaven, may never be seen again.
Poor women crying for absent husbands, and children frightened into quietness.
I, sir, write disinterestedly, and I hope my feelings arose from
a true principle; but when I looked at that scene, my soul revolted
at such means being so cruelly used by a government to sustain the law.
A little terrier sat on the, breast of the man I spoke of, and kept up
a continuous howl: it was removed, but always returned to the same spot;
and when his master's body was huddled, with the other corpses, into the cart,
the little dog jumped in after him, and lying again on his dead master's
breast, began howling again.----was dead there also, and----, who escaped,
had said, that when he offered his sword, he was shot in the side
by a trooper, as he was lying on the ground wounded. He expired
almost immediately. Another was lying dead just inside the barricade,
where he seemed to have crawled. Some of the bodies might have been removed--
I counted fifteen. A poor woman and her children were standing outside a tent;
she said that the troopers had surrounded the tent and pierced it
with their swords. She, her husband, and children, were ordered out
by the troopers, and were inspected in their night-clothes outside,
whilst the troopers searched the tent. Mr. Haslam was roused from sleep
by a volley of bullets fired through his tent; he rushed out, and was shot down
by a trooper, and handcuffed. He lay there for two hours bleeding
from a wound in his breast, until his friends sent for a black-smith,
who forced off the handcuffs with a hammer and cold chisel. When I last heard
of Mr. Haslam, a surgeon was attending him, and probing for the ball.
R----, from Canada, [Captain Ross, of Toronto, once my mate] escaped
the carnage; but is dead since, from the wounds. R---- has effected
his escape. [ Johnny Robertson, who had a striking resemblance to me,
not so much in size as in complexion and colour of the beard especially:
Poor Johnny was shot down dead on the stockade; and was the identical body
which Mr. Binney mistook for me. Hence the belief by many, that I was dead.]
V---- is reported to be amongst the wounded [Oh! no his legs were too long
even for a Minie rifle ]. One man was seen yesterday trailing along the road:
he said he could not last much longer, and that his brother was shot
along-side of him. All whom I spoke to were of one opinion, that it was
a cowardly massacre. There were only about one hundred and seventy diggers,
and they were opposed to nearly six hundred military. I hope all is over;
but I fear not: or amongst many, the feeling is not of intimidation,
but a cry for vengeance, and an opportunity to meet the soldiers
with equal numbers. There is an awful list of casualties yet to come in;
and when uncertainty is made certain, and relatives and friends know the worst,
there will be gaps that cannot be filled up. I have little knowledge
of the gold-fields; but I fear that the massacre at Eureka is only a skirmish.
I bid farewell to the gold-fields, and if what I have seen is a specimen
of the government of Victoria, the sooner I am out of it the better for myself
and family. Sir, I am horrified at what I witnessed, and I did not see
the worst of it. I could not breathe the blood-tainted air of the diggings,
and I have left them for ever.

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