I and R---- lay down
in our clothes, according to our practice for a week past; and worn out
with perpetual alarms, excitement, and fatigue, fell fast asleep.
I didn't wake up till six o'clock on Sunday morning. The first thing
that I saw was a number of diggers enclosed in a sort of hollow square,
many of them were wounded, the blood dripping from them as they walked;
some were walking lame, pricked on by the bayonets of the soldiers
bringing up the rear. The soldiers were much excited, and the troopers
madly so, flourishing their swords, and shouting out--"We have waked up Joe!"
and others replied, "And sent Joe to sleep again!" The diggers' Standard
was carried by in triumph to the Camp, waved about in the air,
then pitched from one to another, thrown down and trampled on.
The scene was awful--twos and threes gathered together, and all felt stupefied.
I went with R---- to the barricade, the tents all around were in a blaze;
I was about to go inside, when a cry was raised that the troopers
were coming again. They did come with carts to take away the bodies,
I counted fifteen dead, one G----, a fine well-educated man, and a great
favourite. [Here, I think, the Correspondent alluded to me. My friends,
nick-named me--Carbonari Great works. ]--I recognised two others,
but the spectacle was so ghastly that I feel a loathing at the remembrance.
They all lay in a small space with their faces upwards, looking like lead,
several of them were still heaving, and at every rise of their breasts,
the blood spouted out of their wounds, or just bubbled out and trickled away.
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