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Whilst having a 'blow,' we would talk over again about the monster meeting of yesterday, thus spinning a yarn in the unusual colonial style.
The general impression was, that as soon as government knew in Melbourne the real state of the excited feelings of the diggers, the licence-hunt would be put a stop to.
Towards ten o'clock was my hour for a working-man's break-fast. I used to retire to my tent from the heat of the mid-day, and on that same Thursday I set about, at once, to end my letter to Mr. Archer, because I was anxious to forward it immediately to Melbourne.
Good reader, I copy now word for word, the scrawl then penned, in great haste and excitement.
"Thursday, November 30th, 1854.
"Just on my preparing to go and post this letter, we are worried by the usual Irish cry, to run to Gravel-pits. The traps are out for licences, and playing hell with the diggers. If that be the case, I am not inclined to give half-a-crown for the whole fixtures at the Camp.
"I must go and see 'what's up.'
"Always Your affectionate,
(Signed) "CARBONI RAFFAELLO."
"W. H. ARCHER, Esq.,
- "Acting Registrar-General, Melbourne."
WHY this identical letter of mine—now in the hands of James Macpherson Grant, M.L.C., Solicitor, Collins-street, where it will remain till Christmas for inspection, to be then returned to the owner—was not produced at my state trial, was, and is still, a MYSTERY to me!
Let's run to Bakery-hill.
XXXIV.
QUOS VULT PERDERE DEUS DEMENTAT.
What's up? a licence hunt; old game. What's to be done? Peter Lalor was on the stump, his rifle in his hand, calling on volunteers to "fall in" into ranks as fast as they rushed to Bakery-hill, from all quarters, with arms in their hands, just fetched from their tents. Alfred, George Black's brother, was taking down in a book the names of divisions in course of formation, and of their captains.
