As night fell fires were lit within the stockade.  A slaughtered bullock lay on its skin, near the smithy, and from this the rebels who remained on Eureka cut steaks, and they cooked their own rough meal.  It was Saturday, and a number of the diggers left the encampment to participate in the gaieties peculiar to the evening in the Main Road dancing-booths and in the pubs and shanty bars.  As yet, so backward were the preparations, there was only the feeblest attempt at military discipline in the stockade, and the password was common property.  A few zealous recruits continued their drilling by the light of the fires, and the smith toiled nobly at his pikes.  His hammer rang a spirited tattoo on the anvil till far into the Sunday morning, and he and his grimy but tireless boy helper made a dramatic picture against the night in the glow of their open forge.  The rebels played and sang, and there was a little skylarking amongst the younger men; but Done and his companions, wearied by their long tramp and the drilling, had spread their blankets on the ground, and made themselves as comfortable as possible, Jim watching the antics of the rebels through half-closed eyes, the others smoking thoughtfully.

‘Well, ole man, what d’yer think of it?’ said Josh.

‘I don’t like it,’ answered Jim, feeling himself addressed.

‘Mus’ say there ain’t a very desperate air about the business so far.’

‘Why doesn’t Paisely attack?’ continued Done.  ’He must know what’s going on here.  There’s nothing to hinder him knowing as much of the rebels’ business as Lalor himself, so far as I can see.  Why doesn’t he come on?’

‘You might join me in a little prayer that he won’t,’ said Mike.  ’What sort o’ chance ‘re we goin’ to have if he drops in on us here with his mounted men?’

’Mighty poor, and you can bet the Colonel knows it.  Unless he’s afraid of precipitating a general rising, he’ll charge down here and wipe this place out.’

‘If there should be any fightin’, gi’ me a call, won’t you?’ said Harry, with a yawn.

The others laughed and took the hint.  Slowly the fires faded, and the encampment sank into stillness and silence, save for the slow movements of the sentinels and the clang of the smith’s hammer.  The night had been warm, the early hours of Sunday morning were cold, but the men were all accustomed to camping in the open, and, huddling together, they slept soundly.  The lights of Ballarat had flickered out; the whole field lay in darkness.  The slow hours stole on, the sentinels were changed, and absolute quiet descended upon Eureka, for even the heroic blacksmith had stretched himself by his forge, and was sleeping, with the boy by his side.

‘The swaddies are on us!’

At about three o’clock that one fierce cry shook the camp into action.  The men sprang from the ground; there was an almost simultaneous rush into position—­the pikemen nearest the pickets, the rifle men to the left, the revolver corps to the right.  It was a false alarm, but it gave Jim more confidence in the men, who had shown much better order than he had expected, and their promptness and determination pleased him.