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.
