What's up? a licence hunt; old game. What's to be done? Peter Lalor was
on the stump, his rifle in his hand, calling on volunteers to 'fall in'
into ranks as fast as they rushed to Bakery-hill, from all quarters,
with arms in their hands, just fetched from their tents. Alfred,
George Black's brother, was taking down in a book the names of divisions
in course of formation, and of their captains.

I went up to Lalor, and the moment he saw me, he took me by the hand saying,
"I want you, Signore: tell these gentlemen, (pointing to old acquaintances
of ours, who were foreigners) that, if they cannot provide themselves
with fire-arms, let each of them procure a piece of steel, five or six inches
long, attached to a pole, and that will pierce the tyrants' hearts."
Peter of course spoke thus in his friendly way as usual towards me.
He was in earnest though. The few words of French he knows, he can pronounce
them tolerably well, but Peter is no scholar in modern languages; therefore
he then appointed me his aide-de-camp, or better to say his interpreter,
and now I am proud to be his historian.

Very soon after this, all the diggers 'fell in' in file of two-a-breast,
and marched to the Eureka.

Captain Ross of Toronto, was our standard-bearer. He hoisted down the
Southern Cross from the flag-staff and headed the march.

Patrick Curtain, the chosen captain of the pikemen, gave me his iron pike,
and took my sword to head his division; I 'fell in' with John Manning who also
had a pike, and all of us marched in order to the Eureka.

I assert as an eye-witness, that we were within one thousand in the rank