About half-past four in the morning—just as the first faint light of day was seen on the eastern horizon—the camp was again set in commotion by the fourth alarm.
This time there was a real cause: since soldiers and troopers could be seen through the twilight, riding towards the stockade.
On the 3rd day of December, 1854, at half-past four o’clock on that holy Sabbath morning, the people in the Eureka Stockade were attacked by English soldiers, and troopers in the pay of the Victorian Government. As the attack was altogether unexpected, they were of course unprepared to repel or resist it.
It would have been little less than folly to have attempted resistance: for the assailants numbered three hundred and ninety men, all well armed and mounted, while the diggers, were less than half that number, and most of us only provided with fowling pieces.
When the signal of attack was given, it was done in a manner that started the sleeping diggers to their legs; and these soon proved to be the most useful members of their bodies. The majority refused to obey the orders of their officers—which was to reserve their fire, until our assailants should come near.
Most discharged their guns at the enemy, while still only dimly seen through the mist of the morning. After firing once, they fled. In an instant, the troopers were upon us.
A few of the diggers upon this occasion proved themselves men of heroic courage. I saw young Ross, who commanded a company, shot dead at the head of his men—while vainly trying to induce them to stand firm.
It seemed but a minute after the signal had been sounded, before the troopers broke down the palisades; and began shooting and hacking at us with their swords.
“I’m a Rolling Stone,” thought I, “and do not like staying too long in one spot. The Eureka Stockade is not the place for me.”
After making this reflection, I sprang over the palisades; and went off at a speed, that enabled me soon to distance many of my comrades who had started in advance of me.