The Eureka Stockade [24]
honest digger. The Vandemonian, you know, never dreamt of taking out a licence, of course not.
Paramount is this grand consideration: John Bull, rather of a doggish nature, will growl to himself if left alone picking his bone: the passport system is a bone that he will not pick; no, no ways and under no shape whatever-- I know it by experience.
2. A memorial to his Excellency for the release of the three prisoners under sentence for burning the Eureka Hotel, is, through Humffray, in course of signature. It is our earnest desire that his Excellency may show mercy; though it may appear, that he would do thus an act of justice to the diggers, considering how rightly they guessed the Bentley affair.
3. The whole pack, commissioners, troopers and traps on the Ballaarat Camp, with the exception of magistrate Hackett, are detested by the diggers: there will be eternal discontent as long as Rede and fraternity are lodging over that way. The whole Camp had better be changed at once, and entrusted to good experienced hands and honest men. Perhaps Sir Charles may turn into a Diogenes in vain--'nil desperandum.' There are now and then honest men to be found even in this colony.
Good reader, listen to me: I shall tell you no lie: do not lose sight of the above letter: I intend to give the end in the next chapter: meanwhile, fill the pipe, let's have a 'blow' together.
Chapter XXXIII.
Mistero! S'Apre Mendacia, Violente Strada Maestra In Citta E Campagna: La Verita, Se Docile, Quadagna A Passo Lo Stradello Lentamente.
(Translated in the text of my first chapter.)
On Thursday morning, November 30th, at sunrise, I was at my work, as usual.
I assert, as an eye-witness, that most of the hands on the Eureka came to their work, and worked as usual.
Whilst having a 'blow,' we would talk over again about the monster meeting of yesterday, thus spinning a yarn in the usual colonial style.
The general impression was, that as soon as government knew in Melbourne the real state of the excited feelings of the diggers, the licence-hunt would be put a stop to.
Towards ten o'clock was my hour for a working-man's breakfast. I used to retire to my tent from the heat of the mid-day, and on that same Thursday I set about, at once, to end my letter to Mr. Archer, because I was anxious to forward it immediately to Melbourne.
Good reader, I copy now, word for word, the scrawl then penned, in great haste and excitement.
Thursday, November 30th, 1854.
Just on my preparing to go and post this letter, we are worried by the usual Irish cry, to run to Gravel-pits. The traps are out for licences, and playing hell with the diggers. If that be the case, I am not inclined to give half-a-crown for the whole fixtures at the Camp.
I must go and see 'what's up.
Always your affectionate, (Signed) CARBONI RAFFAELLO. (To) W. H. ARCHER, Esq., Acting Registrar-General, Melbourne.
-----
Why this identical letter of mine--now in the hands of James Macpherson Grant, M.L.C., Solicitor, Collins-street, where it will remain till Christmas for inspection, to be then returned to the owner--was not produced at my STATE TRIAL, was, and is still, a MYSTERY to me!
Let's run to Bakery-hill.
Chapter XXXIV.
Quos Vult Perdere Deus Dementat.
What's up? a licence hunt; old game. What's to be done? Peter Lalor was on the stump, his rifle in his hand, calling on volunteers to 'fall in' into ranks as fast as they rushed to Bakery-hill, from all quarters, with arms in their hands, just fetched from their tents. Alfred, George Black's brother, was taking down in a book the names of divisions in course of formation, and of their captains.
I went up to Lalor, and the moment he saw me, he took me by the hand saying, "I want you, Signore: tell these gentlemen, (pointing to old acquaintances of ours, who were foreigners) that, if they cannot provide themselves with fire-arms, let each of them procure a piece of steel, five or six inches long, attached to a pole, and that will pierce the tyrants'
Paramount is this grand consideration: John Bull, rather of a doggish nature, will growl to himself if left alone picking his bone: the passport system is a bone that he will not pick; no, no ways and under no shape whatever-- I know it by experience.
2. A memorial to his Excellency for the release of the three prisoners under sentence for burning the Eureka Hotel, is, through Humffray, in course of signature. It is our earnest desire that his Excellency may show mercy; though it may appear, that he would do thus an act of justice to the diggers, considering how rightly they guessed the Bentley affair.
3. The whole pack, commissioners, troopers and traps on the Ballaarat Camp, with the exception of magistrate Hackett, are detested by the diggers: there will be eternal discontent as long as Rede and fraternity are lodging over that way. The whole Camp had better be changed at once, and entrusted to good experienced hands and honest men. Perhaps Sir Charles may turn into a Diogenes in vain--'nil desperandum.' There are now and then honest men to be found even in this colony.
Good reader, listen to me: I shall tell you no lie: do not lose sight of the above letter: I intend to give the end in the next chapter: meanwhile, fill the pipe, let's have a 'blow' together.
Chapter XXXIII.
Mistero! S'Apre Mendacia, Violente Strada Maestra In Citta E Campagna: La Verita, Se Docile, Quadagna A Passo Lo Stradello Lentamente.
(Translated in the text of my first chapter.)
On Thursday morning, November 30th, at sunrise, I was at my work, as usual.
I assert, as an eye-witness, that most of the hands on the Eureka came to their work, and worked as usual.
Whilst having a 'blow,' we would talk over again about the monster meeting of yesterday, thus spinning a yarn in the usual colonial style.
The general impression was, that as soon as government knew in Melbourne the real state of the excited feelings of the diggers, the licence-hunt would be put a stop to.
Towards ten o'clock was my hour for a working-man's breakfast. I used to retire to my tent from the heat of the mid-day, and on that same Thursday I set about, at once, to end my letter to Mr. Archer, because I was anxious to forward it immediately to Melbourne.
Good reader, I copy now, word for word, the scrawl then penned, in great haste and excitement.
Thursday, November 30th, 1854.
Just on my preparing to go and post this letter, we are worried by the usual Irish cry, to run to Gravel-pits. The traps are out for licences, and playing hell with the diggers. If that be the case, I am not inclined to give half-a-crown for the whole fixtures at the Camp.
I must go and see 'what's up.
Always your affectionate, (Signed) CARBONI RAFFAELLO. (To) W. H. ARCHER, Esq., Acting Registrar-General, Melbourne.
-----
Why this identical letter of mine--now in the hands of James Macpherson Grant, M.L.C., Solicitor, Collins-street, where it will remain till Christmas for inspection, to be then returned to the owner--was not produced at my STATE TRIAL, was, and is still, a MYSTERY to me!
Let's run to Bakery-hill.
Chapter XXXIV.
Quos Vult Perdere Deus Dementat.
What's up? a licence hunt; old game. What's to be done? Peter Lalor was on the stump, his rifle in his hand, calling on volunteers to 'fall in' into ranks as fast as they rushed to Bakery-hill, from all quarters, with arms in their hands, just fetched from their tents. Alfred, George Black's brother, was taking down in a book the names of divisions in course of formation, and of their captains.
I went up to Lalor, and the moment he saw me, he took me by the hand saying, "I want you, Signore: tell these gentlemen, (pointing to old acquaintances of ours, who were foreigners) that, if they cannot provide themselves with fire-arms, let each of them procure a piece of steel, five or six inches long, attached to a pole, and that will pierce the tyrants'