Quid Sum Miser, Nunc Dicturus.
At Bacchus Marsh we were thrown into a dark lockup, by far cleaner than
the lousy one of Ballaarat. Captain Thomas, who must have acknowledged
that we had behaved as men, sent us a gallon of porter, and plenty of
damper; he had no occasion to shoot down any of us. I write now this his
kindness with thanks.
At last, after a long, long day, smothered with dust, burning with thirst,
such that the man in the garb of a digger had compassion on us, and
shouted a welcome glass of ale to all of us--we arrived before the
Melbourne gaol at eight o'clock at night.
From the tender mercies of our troopers, we were given up to the gentle
grasp of the turnkeys. The man in the garb of a digger introduced us to
the governor, giving such a good account of us all, that said governor,
on hearing we had had nothing to eat since mid-day, was moved to let us
have some bread and cheese.
We were commanded to strip to the bare shirt--the usual ignomy to begin a
prison life with--and then we were shown our cell--a board to lie down on,
a blanket--and the heavy door was bolted on us.
Within the darkness of our cell, we now gave vent to our grief, each in
his own way.
Sleep is not a friend to prisoners, and so my mind naturally wandered back
to the old spot on the Eureka.