On Monday morning, the fresh air had restored me a little strength.
We had an important arrival among us. It was the Editor of 'The Times'
newspaper, arrested for sedition. All silver and gold lace, blue and red
coats in the Camp rushed in to gaze on this wild elephant, whose trunk
it was supposed, had stirred up the hell on Ballaarat.
Henry Seekamp is a short, thick, rare sort of man, of quick and precise
movements, sardonic countenance; and one look from his sharp round set
of eyes, tells you at once that you must not trifle with him. Of a temper
that must have cost him some pains to keep under control, he hates humbug
and all sort of yabber-yabber. His round head of tolerable size,
is of German mould, for the earnestness of his forehead is corrected
by the fullness of his cheeks, and a set of moustachios is the padlock
of his mouth, whose key is kept safe in his head, and his heart is the
turn-key. When his breast is full, and he must make it clean, its gall
will burn wherever it falls, and set the place a blazing. To keep friends
with such a cast of mind, whose motto is Nelson's, you must do your duty;
never mind if you sink a shicer, bottom your shaft any how. You are
his enemy if you are or play the flunky; he will call you a 'thing,'
and has a decided contempt for 'incapables.' Hence, his energy was never
abated, though the whole legion of Victorian red-tape wanted to dry
his inkstand, and smother his lamp in gaol. That there are too many fools
at large, he knows, because he has travelled half the world, what he can
not put up with, is their royal cant, religious bosh, Toorak small-beer,
and first and foremost, their money-grubbing expertness. Hence, now
and then, his ink turns sour, and thereby its vitriol burns stronger.
'The Times', of which he is the founder, is the Overseer of Ballaarat,
and the 'Dolce far niente' will not prosper.
Our literary prisoner was literally insulted, and could not look with
enough contempt on all those accursed asses braying (at him)
'The Times!' 'The Times!'
I felt for him very much, and joined conversation with him in French.
I state it as a matter of fact, that there and then I had the presentiment
that all the spies pointed me out there, and only there and then as his
accomplice. Towards ten o'clock we were ordered to fall in, in four rows.
Now the Camp officials and their myrmidons were in their glory.
They came to number their prey, and mark out a score of heads to make
an 'example' of, for the better conduct of future generations.
Unfortunately for my red hair, fizzing red beard, and fizzing red
moustachios, my name was taken down after the armed ruffian and the
anonymous scribbler, and followed by that of the nigger-rebel.
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