Chapter XXV.
Epistolam Hanc Misi, Tunc Bene, Nunc Valde Ad Opus.
Prepaid.
To W. H. ARCHER, Esq.
Acting Registrar General,
Melbourne.
Ballaarat Gold-fields,
Eureka, November 30, 1854.
My dear Mr. Archer,
I was in some anxiety about you; not receiving any answer to my letter
of the 17th October, and especially to that of the 22nd ditto. I was
at Creswick's Creek, when I was informed that Father Smyth had a letter for me,
and last Monday I returned to Ballaarat, where I received, through
Messrs. Muir Brothers, your letter of the 20th October. I am heartily glad
to learn that you are well, and now I suppose a few lines from me are
as welcome to you as ever.
Somehow or other, verging towards the fortieth year of my age, having
witnessed strange scenes in this strange world, very, very different from
my dream of youth, I feel now more disposed to the sober reality of the things
of this life.
However desponding and humiliating may be, as it really is, the sad
reflection, that at the enormous distance of sixteen thousand miles
from dear homes and dearer friends, people should be called upon to assemble,
NOT to thank God Almighty for any special mercy, or rejoice over the first
good harvest or vintage on this golden land; but melancholy is it to say,
for the old purpose, as in olden times in the old country,
'FOR THE REDRESS OF GRIEVANCES;' and so yesterday we had a monster meeting
on Bakery-hill, and I was the delegate of upwards of one thousand foreigners,
or 'aliens,' according to the superlative wisdom of your Legislative Council.
The Camp was prepared to stand for the Colonial Secretary Foster! Yes;
you may judge of the conduct of some officers sent to protect the Camp
by the following: -
On Tuesday Evening (November 28th), about eight o'clock, the Twelfth Regiment
arrived from Melbourne. The expert cleverness of the officer in command,
made the soldiers, riding in carts drawn by three horses each, cross the line
exactly at the going-a-head end of the Eureka. An injudicious triumphant
riding, that by God's mercy alone, was not turned into a vast funeral.
From my tent, I soon heard the distant cries of 'Joe!' increasing in vehemence
at each second. The poor soldiers were pelted with mud, stones, old stumps,
and broken bottles. The hubbub was going on pretty desperate westward
of the Hill and WE had hard work to preserve the peace; but at the upper end
of the Hill, the game was going on upon a far more desperate scale. It appears
that a party of Gravel-pits men had been in the bush for the purpose.
They stopped a cart, pulled the soldiers out, robbed them of their ammunition
and bayonets; in short, it was a hell of a row.
