Sterling
altogether, for all what they knew, and yet not one miner rose one finger
against them, when they imperatively desired to know whether they had done
their duty and still possessed the confidence of their fellow diggers!
They (said members) are practical men, of our own adopted class,
elected by ourselves from among ourselves, to sit as arbitrators of our
disputes, and our representatives at the Local Court. That's the key, for any
future Brougham, for the history of the Local Courts on the gold-fields.
It has fallen to my lot, however, to put the Eureka Stockade on record;
and, from the following 'Joe' chapter must begin any proper history
of that disgracefully memorable event.
Chapter IX.
Abyssus, Abyssum Invocat.
"Joe, Joe!" No one in the world can properly understand and describe this
shouting of "Joe," unless he were on this El Dorado of Ballaarat at the time.
It was a horrible day, plagued by the hot winds. A blast of the hurricane
winding through gravel pits whirled towards the Eureka this shouting of "Joe."
It was the howl of a wolf for the shepherds, who bolted at once towards
the bush: it was the yell of bull-dogs for the fossikers who floundered
among the deep holes, and thus dodged the hounds: it was a scarecrow
for the miners, who now scrambled down to the deep, and left a licensed mate
or two at the windlass.
