"Where did you read in history that the British Lion was ever merciful
to a fallen foe?" was his sorrowfully earnest reply.
Oh! days and nights of the 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th of December, 1854,
your remembrance will not end, no, not even in my grave.
They were happy days in my youth, when I thought with Rousseau, that
the heart of man is from nature good. It was a sad fatality now that
compelled me to feel the truth from the prophet Isaiah, that the heart
of man is desperately wicked.
I was really thunderstruck at the savage eagerness with which spies and
red-coats sprang out of their ranks to point me out. Though a British
soldier was not ashamed to swear and confess his cowardice of running away
from before my pike, which I never had on the stockade, where the fellow
never could have seen me; I shall not prostitute my intelligence and
comment on the 'evidence' against me from a gang of bloodthirsty mercenary
spies. The printer will copy my trial from the public newspaper,
'The Age'.
Chapter LXVIII.
Condemn The Wicked, And Bring His Way Upon His Head, Oh,
Lord God Of Israel!
The first witness against me was such a rum sort of old colonial bird of
the jackass tribe, and made such a fool of himself for Her Majesty's dear
sake, about the monster meeting, where as it appeared, he had volunteered
as reporter of the Camp; that now God has given him his reward.
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