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.
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