To be serious: Timothy Hayes, our chairman at the monster meeting,
aristocratically dressed among us, had like the rest his plump body
literally bloated with lice from the lock-up. Poor Manning was the worst.
Myself, I was plagued with that disgusting vermin, all through those
ignominious four months in gaol.
It were odious to say many, many other things.
Chapter LXXII.
Is There A Mortal Eye That Never Wept?
On Sunday afternoon, we witnessed a solemn scene, which must be recorded
with a tear wherever this book may find a reader.
The sun was far towards the west. All had felt severely the heat of the
day. The red-coats themselves, that were of the watch, felt their ardour
flagging. Of twelve prisoners, some gazed as in 'a fix,' and were
stationary; others, 'acursing,' swept up and down the prison; the rest,
cast down, desponding, doing violence to themselves, to dam their flooded
eyes. I was among the broken-hearted.
Mrs. Hayes, who in the days of her youth must have made many young Irish
hearts ache 'for something,' had brought now a bundle of clean clothing,
and a stock of provisions, to make her husband's journey to Melbourne as
comfortable as possible. There she was, holding her baby sucking at her
breast; her eyes full on her husband, which spoke that she passionately
loved him. Six children, neatly dressed, and the image of their father,
were around. Timothy Hayes forced himself to appear as cheerful as his
honourable heart and proud mind would allow. He pressed his little
daughter, who wanted to climb his shoulder; he pronounced his blessing
on the younger of his sons. The eldest (twelve years old) was kissing
his father's left hand, bathing it all the while with such big tears,
that dropped down so one by one, and so after the other!
Good boy, your sorrows have begun soon enough for your sensible heart!
Strengthen it by time with Christian courage, or else you will smother it
with grief, long before your hair has turned grey! There are too many
troubles to go through in this world. Take courage; there is a God,
and therefore learn by heart the Psalm, 'Beatus vir qui timet Dominum.'
My head has still the red hair of my youth, and yet I am a living witness
of many truths in that Psalm; meditate, therefore, especially on the last
verse, ending 'Desiderium peccatorum peribit.'
Had I in younger years cultivated painting, I feel satisfied that I could
produce now such a tableau as to match any of my countryman, Raffaelle;
so much an all-wise Providence has been pleased, perhaps for the trial of
my heart, to endow me with a cast of mind that, on similar occasions as
the solemn one above, whenever my electric fluid is called into action,
it is actually a daguerreotype.
Chapter LXXIII.
Amare Rimembranze.
At four o'clock on Tuesday morning, we were commanded to fall in, dressed
and hobbled as we were. Captain Thomas, with the tone and voice of a
country parson, read to us his 'Order of the day,' to the effect that we
were now under his charge for our transit to Melbourne; that if any of us
stirred a finger, or moved a lip - especially across the diggings - his
orders were that the transgressor should be shot on the spot. This
arrangement, so Austrian-like, and therefore unworthy of a British officer,
did not frighten us, and I cried, loud enough, "God save the Queen!"
Inspector Foster sprang up to me with his hopping leg, put on me tighter
darbies, and together with the mulatto-rebel put us in front of the cart,
giving strict orders to shoot us both down if we attempted to turn our
heads. 'Veritatem dico, non mentior'; and so Messrs, Haynau, Jellachich,
and Co., from that morning my hatred for you is on the decline.
They rode us through the main road as fast is it was safe for the
preservation of our necks - the only thing they wanted to preserve
inviolate for head-quarters.
Though it was clear daylight, yet I did see only one digger on the whole
of the main road.
On passing through the Eureka, I got a glance of my snug little tent,
where I had passed so many happy hours, and was sacred to me on a Sunday.
There it lay deserted, uncared for! My eyes were choked with tears,
and at forty years of age a man does not cry for little.
Chapter LXXIV
Della Vita Lo Spello Dal Mondo Sciolto,
Al Mondo Vivo Perche Non Son Sepolto.
We were soon in Ballan. Good reader, please enter now within my mind.
The lesson, if read, learned, and inwardly digested, will be of good use
for the future. The troubles of this colony have begun.
It is eight o'clock of a fine morning; the spring season is in its full:
the sun in his splendour is all there on the blue sky. Nature all around
is life. The landscape is superb. It reminded me 'della Bella Cara
Itallia'. The bush around was crammed with parrots, crows, and other
chattering birds of the south. They were not prevented from singing
praises each in its own language to the Creator, and all was joy and
happiness with them. Unfortunately those lands lay uncultivated by the
hand of man; but were not left idle by nature. Lively, pretty little
flowers of the finest blue, teemed here, there, and everywhere, through
the splendid grass, wafed to and fro by a gentle wind.
