67
Such were more or less the expressions to give vent to my feelings on my way to the Prince Albert Hotel, Bakery-hill, to meet there a friend or two, especially my old mate, Adolphus Lessman, Lieutenant of the Riflemen.
LIII.
TURBATUS EST A FURORE OCULUS MEUS.
The following is the scene, so characteristic of the times, as it was going on at the Prince Albert:—
"Who's the landlord here?" was the growl from a sulky ruffian, some five feet high, with the head of a bull-dog, the eyes of a vulture, sunken in a mass of bones, neglected beard, sun-burnt, grog-worn, as dirty as a brute,—the known cast, as called here in this colony, of a "Vandemonian," made up of low, vulgar manners and hard talk, spiked at each word, with their characteristic B, and infamous B again; whilst a vile oath begins and ends any of their foul conceits. Their glory to stand oceans of grog, joined to their benevolence of "shouting," for all hands, and their boast of black-eye giving, nose-smashing, knocking in of teeth, are the three marks of their aristocracy. Naturally cowards, they have learned the secret that "pluck," does just as well for their foul jobs. Grog is pluck, and the more grog they swallow, the more they count on success. Hence their frame, however robust by nature, wears out through hard drink, and goes the way of all flesh, rarely with grey hairs. It is dangerous to approach them; they know the dodge how to pick up a quarrel for the sake of gratifying their appetite for fighting. You cannot avoid them in this colony; they are too numerous. I saw hundreds of these Vandemonians, during my four months in gaol. Their heart must be of the same stuff as that of vultures, because they are of the same trade. In a word, they are the living witnesses among us, of the terrible saying of Isaiah, "The heart of man is desperately wicked."
Through such did Satan plant his standard to rule this southern land, before Christ could show his Cross; hence, before famous Ballaarat could point at a barn, and call it a church, on the township, old Satan had three palaces to boast of, the first of which—a match for any in the world—has made the landlord as wealthy and proud as a merchant-prince of the City of London. "Non ex illis Mecœnates"—that's the secret how this land hat produced so many first-rate bullock-drivers.
The scene at the Prince Albert is now more interesting.
