Poor Manning was the worst.
Myself, I was plagued with that disgusting vermin, all through those
ignominious four months in gaol.
It were odious to say many, many other things.
Chapter LXXII.
Is There A Mortal Eye That Never Wept?
On Sunday afternoon, we witnessed a solemn scene, which must be recorded
with a tear wherever this book may find a reader.
The sun was far towards the west. All had felt severely the heat of the
day. The red-coats themselves, that were of the watch, felt their ardour
flagging. Of twelve prisoners, some gazed as in 'a fix,' and were
stationary; others, 'acursing,' swept up and down the prison; the rest,
cast down, desponding, doing violence to themselves, to dam their flooded
eyes. I was among the broken-hearted.
Mrs. Hayes, who in the days of her youth must have made many young Irish
hearts ache 'for something,' had brought now a bundle of clean clothing,
and a stock of provisions, to make her husband's journey to Melbourne as
comfortable as possible. There she was, holding her baby sucking at her
breast; her eyes full on her husband, which spoke that she passionately
loved him. Six children, neatly dressed, and the image of their father,
were around. Timothy Hayes forced himself to appear as cheerful as his
honourable heart and proud mind would allow. He pressed his little
daughter, who wanted to climb his shoulder; he pronounced his blessing
on the younger of his sons.
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