81
The trooper be d——d; but I congratulate poor Frank, of the good town of Bedford, for "this madness on the part of the diggers" procuring him £400 sterling from Toorak; so that he can afford to spare me the trouble of encroaching any further into his "statement." Great works!
III. Document more important, by far.
On the 28th November, when some military and ammunition came on the ground, the detachment was set on at Eureka, near the site of the stockade, and in the hubbub consequent the troops were somewhat at fault, and the officer in command called at the London Hotel to inquire the way to the Camp. The owner of the hotel, Mr. Hassall, on being asked, came out of his establishment to point out the way to the officer in command of the detachment, while so doing he received a ball in his leg, and was for a while laid up by the wound. After a long time of suffering, and a great loss of money directly and indirectly, he applied for compensation—with what success maybe seen from the following letter just come to hand;—
"Melbourne, 26th October, 1855.
"Gentlemen——The memorial of the miners on behalf of Mr. B. S. Hassall, wounded during the disturbances at Ballaarat, having been by the governor's directions referred to the board appointed to investigate such claims, the board reported, that from the evidence, it appears impossible Mr. Hassall could have received his wound from the military, and that they could not see anything to justify their recommending any compensation for him.——His Excellency cannot therefore entertain the petition as he has not power to award compensation except on the recommendation of the board.
"I have the honour to be, gentlemen,
"Your most obedient servant,
"Samuel Irwin, and
A. C. Bruning, Esqrs."
"Great works" this time at Toorak, eh! oh! dear.
So far so good, for the present; because spy "Goodenough" wants me in the next chapter.
LXIII.
ET SCIAS QUIA NIHIL IMPIUM FECERIM.
It was now between eight and nine o'clock. A patrol of troopers and traps stopped before the London Hotel. Spy Goodenough, entered panting, a cocked pistol in his hand, looking as wild as a raven. He instantly pounced on me as his prey, and poking the pistol at my face, said in his rage, "I want you."
"What for?"
