Banking Under Difficulties/Chapter 10
CHAPTER X.
Kiandra.—The Bank.—Depositing Treasure for Safe Custody.—A Narrow Escape.—Hospital.—Chinese Employed as Packers.—Disturbance at Kidd’s Hotel.
The township of Kiandra is situated on a tributary of the Snowy River, about fifty miles from Cooma, perhaps the coldest climate in New South Wales. From the mountainous character of the country the temperature is very low, sometimes falling as low as 5 degrees. The mean actual temperature in the shade is 46 degrees.
On the morning after my arrival at Kiandra the agent of the bank (Mr. Yates), whom I had known previously at Castlemaine, took me up to the bank, which I found to be a calico tent, built on the high side of the street, fully 10 ft. higher than the Oriental Bank, which was on the opposite side. On entering I saw a young man behind the counter, and was introduced to him by Yates as his assistant (Mr. Swain). The young fellow was perched on a piece of bark which rested on two logs, a stream of water running under him; in fact right through the building. I was puzzled to account for this, but on examination found it was caused by the snow, which was a foot or two deep at the back of the tent, thawing. The floor was one mass of puddle. No fireplace, so of course no fire; no door to the tent, but merely a piece of calico with a piece of sapling at the bottom, which was rolled up or down as occasion required. The counter was a novelty in its way—four saplings stuck into the mud with a few rough boards on the top. Altogether it was a most dismal prospect. How was it that such a state of things existed? And who was to blame for all this? These questions were easily answered. Yates was a man that did not value personal comfort; he had been accustomed to roughing it, and so long as he could get his meals and bed at a shanty he was satisfied. On inquiry I found out that a select few—principally bank officials—had a private room at Kidd’s Hotel (all these shanties are here called hotels). So there I went and made an arrangement for board and lodging, at the moderate sum of 50s. per week! The private room was 8 x 10 ft., in which there was a fireplace. Here we had our meals, and at night eight of us slept—four on stretchers and four on the floor. I was one of the unfortunates who had to take a “shake-down.” However, I was not so badly off after all, as I invariably got a middle berth, so that I was always sure of a fair share of the bed-clothes. A few weeks after I went there I was fortunate enough to secure a stretcher, which I retained possession of until I took up my quarters, in August, in the new bank, which I shall describe presently.
Sunday I found to be the busiest day in the week. Diggers came into town on that day to meet their friends, and to make their purchases; publichouses were open and doing a roaring trade. Business (I was going to say “in all its branches;” I won’t say that, however, as the banks were always closed) was carried on the same as any other day.
I had not been at Kiandra many days when Yates went to Adelong, a township about seventy miles distant, where we had an agency. I took the opportunity of his absence to get a fireplace erected, which made the place a little more comfortable.
We had no safe in which to put our treasure, which had, in consequence, to be carried to and from the camp (three-quarters of a mile distant) night and morning. This pleasing duty fell to the lot of Swain and myself. We would go to the camp in the morning, between nine and ten o’clock, and bring with us what notes and coin would be required during the day. This we put in a pair of saddle-bags, leaving the remaining portion of the cash and the bullion purchased in another pair of saddle-bags, not in an iron safe, as one would imagine (the camp authorities had no safe), but under one of the commissioner’s bunks, where it was oftentimes left for hours without a soul being near the place. Strange as it may seem—for this style of things was just offering a premium for someone about to help themselves—we never lost a penny, which speaks volumes for the honesty of the police and others in the employ of the Government. Our day’s work ended we would put whatever cash we had remaining, and the bullion purchases for the day, into the saddle-bags, and take them back to the place of safety (i.e., under the commissioner’s bunk). One evening as Swain and I were going to the camp we saw three men approaching us, very suspicious-looking characters. We consulted as to what we had better do, and we agreed to part company, he, with the saddle-bags on his back, going to the right, and I to the left. We were both armed, and agreed, should any of them attempt to follow either of us, to draw our revolvers, and, if necessity required, use them, of course each taking care to get out of the line of fire. The men evidently saw we suspected something, and were prepared, so they passed between us without the slightest attempt in any way to interfere with us. That evening we learnt that their intention was to bail us up; but, seeing we were prepared, they determined to leave it alone till the following day. A conversation to that effect was overheard during the evening, information of which was given to the police. That night they were all secured and marched off to the lock-up, brought up before the resident magistrate next morning under the Vagrant Act, and sentenced to three months’ imprisonment in the Cooma gaol. This was my first escape from “sticking up.”
What made our stay in the tent so wearisome was that we had so little to do, and doing nothing in such places as I have described was anything but easy work. Our bank hours were pretty long, too—from 9.30 or 10 a.m. to 5.30 p.m.
extracts from my diary.
Sunday, 3rd June.—This afternoon a digger got on a rock and commenced to preach. A crowd soon gathered. As he was preaching a funeral passed about fifty yards further up the hill. At the time the funeral was passing a fight was got up, and in less time than I can write it, the preacher was left alone; not one stayed, all went to see the fight.
4th June.—Swain and I amused ourselves to-day, for want of anything better to do, by sinking a hole in the bank; got down 3 ft., when our pick-handle broke, so gave it up for a bad job. The next day washed some stuff and got a few colours. Eighty Chinamen arrived; I was talking to their head man, who told me he expected there would be 20,000 (twenty thousand) of his countrymen here in less than six months.
17th July.—A meeting was held at the Empire Hotel (Carmichael’s) this afternoon for the purpose of establishing a hospital. About eighty persons were present; £80 was collected in the room. “It is a thing very much wanted, and I have no doubt the diggers will respond handsomely to the call.” Such was my impression at the time the above extract was written. However, the “bone and sinew” did not respond to the call. Experience has taught me that the more you do for them in that way the more you may. These institutions are got up for their special benefit, and yet are not supported, as a rule, by them. I have known cases where men have gone into the hospital pleading poverty, when at the same time they have had hundreds of pounds to their credit in a bank.
23rd July.—Swain went over to the camp alone this morning, and had great difficulty in returning, the snow in some places being 3 to 4 feet deep. Did not take the cash over to the camp in the evening, but down to the hotel, and put it in a safe which we have just got up from Sydney. Most of the miners are unable to work owing to the heavy fall of snow; a great many of them have taken to bringing in firewood as a means of livelihood. A new scheme proposed to day, viz., to engage all the Chinamen in the district to pack up goods from Russell’s, it being impossible to get them up by pack-horse.
27th July.—The first batch of Chinamen started for Russell’s to bring up the type of the Alpine Pioneer, a newspaper which is about to be started here.
The great attraction to Kidd’s Hotel was its restaurant, for in no other on the diggings could a meal be obtained owing to the cold, the difficulty of procuring provisions, and the general discomfort which prevailed. The chance of a good meal, hot, quickly served, and to be eaten with the assistance of knives, forks, and plates, was hailed by hundreds with more than delight. To gentlemen, who, of course, were unaccustomed to cook out of doors over a miserable fire in the rain, to poor wearied diggers, arriving after a tiresome tramp of miles over bleak swampy plains, such an opportunity was not to be lost, and numbers of diggers working on the rich patches of Surface Hill appreciated the boon also, as the time otherwise lost by them in cooking was thus saved; a vast consideration when their small claims could be jumped and worked out in about an hour or so.
It may be easily conceived that, with all this in its favour, the restaurant was crowded—and such a crowd. Gold commissioners, bankers, squatters, swells, come to see the rush; burly diggers just as they had left their work, shanty-keepers, bullies, loafers, and niggers, all pierced with cold and impelled by hunger, that great leveller of distinctions, jostled and pressed eagerly to satisfy the cravings of their appetites. The eating-room, the goal striven for by so many, was a long room with only one door in the corner—a contrivance of the cute Yankee proprietor—to prevent the guests leaving without first paying the price of their entertainment. It was only wide enough to contain two narrow tables, which ranged the entire length, with just sufficient room between for the attendants who waited upon the customers to move about in. The bar was on one side, and the other was flanked by sleeping apartments. The partition dividing the rooms, not reaching more than 7 ft. high, left the whole space to the roof above open throughout the entire building. At the end of the passage, between the tables, was a port-hole into the kitchen, through which the various comestibles were handed. This elegant compartment was lighted by two candelabra, formed of squares of battens with candles stuck in the corners, suspended from the rafters. Long before the time stated for each meal the seats, intended to accommodate about fifty, were occupied by sixty or seventy hungry men, who passed the interval of waiting in horse-play, interspersed with vehement demands for the “grub.” At last the portcullis was opened, and a very Babel commenced; shouts of “Irish stew,” “liver and bacon,” “roast mutton,” were mingled with the clatter of plates and the rattle of knives until, all being served, comparative quietness lasted. Then yells for the waiter proceeded from a dozen different places at once; fellows started up, holding up their plates for a return, as a second supply was termed, while the cook’s mate screamed out the contents of each plate as he thrust it into the hands of the waiter through the port-hole. This went on until the supply was exhausted, and then the unfortunates who came late were told that their favourite dish was “off.” The aspect of affairs then changed; curses were heard; men became quarrelsome and were violently expelled, till at last the lights were put out for a time. The room cleared up and relighted, was again filled, now with drinkers and gamblers, and lastly, it was covered over, tables and all, with “shakes-down.” The viands dispensed by Host Kidd were really good; the cuisine excellent, it being under the superintendence of Felix, a chef of Parisian fame. He was a lively, versatile Frenchman, with an inexhaustible flow of good humour and smart repartee. By the timely intervention of a joke he frequently changed an angry altercation into a general laugh, and so preserved the peace. Poor fellow! Years after he met a dreadful end in New Zealand, being one of the victims murdered in cold blood at Maungatapu (particulars of which will be seen in a following chapter). Disputes could not always be so easily set right, however, and frequently fights took place. The waiters, chosen, I suppose, with a view to such services being sometimes required, were strong active fellows, and generally managed to expel any turbulent customer. Upon one occasion they got the worst of it from a party of rough Irishmen.
The row commenced by one of these fellows accusing the chief waiter, Isaac, with paying too much attention to the white collar mob. This designation was applied to anyone who dressed in a manner at all different to the diggers. Isaac told the man to be quiet, but he attempted to seize a plate or dish which the waiter was about placing on the table, when Isaac, a wiry, active man, who had apparently been a steward on board a steamer, struck the fellow, which was the signal for a rush to be made upon him by three or four more.
Isaac hit out well for some time, keeping them at bay; but at last they managed to close with him and throw him. Now ensued a scene almost indescribable. The assailants gave the regular howl, and several more of their compatriots rushed along the narrow passage, striking and felling all within reach.
In the meantime it was faring badly with poor Isaac. The immediate operators were kicking him, and literally jumping on him, yelling like demons the while. One ruffian, wishing to have a chance in the melée, and thinking it a pity to lose an opportunity of kicking a man while he was down, being unable to effect a passage between the tables, jumped on one of them and actually rushed to the fray over plates and dishes, forcing his way without any regard to the crockery. His example was at once followed by several, and, their blood being up, and Isaac nearly dead, they turned their attention to the nearest person.
The fearful yells uttered by these ruffians attracted others from outside, who, rushing in, attacked anyone who was “convenient.” Heads were broken; men were knocked down and brutally kicked, then someone seized a bottle and hurled it at the attacking party. This was the signal for a general fusilade. Anything in the shape of a projectile—plates, cups, &c.—were flying in all directions, and one of the missiles severed the cord by which a rude candelabrum was suspended. The rope encircled a ferocious combatant, who, diverted for the moment by the unusual girdle around him from the business on hand, endeavoured to free himself. Fatal mistake on his part. Directly he became incapacitated from fighting, friends and foes alike fell upon him and down he went to be booted. One of the bank managers, a tall, stout, military-looking individual, at the outset made some attempts to rescue the unfortunate waiter, but he was nearly brained with a candlestick that I think had been seized through the port hole. The possessor of this weapon for some time did good service, but at last received his quietus from a well-aimed teacup. The other bankers, with some more of the “white collar mob,” seeing how useless any interference on their part would be, gained a temporary refuge by scaling the bedroom partition; the rooms on the other side of which were filled with bunks, and standing on the top of these they observed from that “coign of vantage” the free fight in comparative safety, and now and then they drew over some wounded combatant, and also their bleeding companions. Their proceedings were noticed, and some of the ruffians, thinking it would be a good thing and safe to get into the hospital and worry the wounded, tried to break in the doors; but just then a strong detachment of police, who had been sent for by the landlord, forced an entrance, and after a sharp struggle managed to capture and handcuff several of the ringleaders.
There must be something attractive to the Irish mind in a free fight; they got up this one certainly for the pure love of the thing. Fellows at the far end of the room who had nothing to do with the original row, directly it was well started would jump up, give a yell, and then go for the next man. Another, scenting the fray from afar, would run to the battle ground, force an entrance, and “wire in,” without taking pains to ascertain the respective sides; enough for them that kicking was to be done; so long as that luxury was to be had they were not to be restrained. Their modus operandi was, at least, peculiar; yelling and foaming at the mouth, they struck out right and left; someone went down, then the fortunate ones at hand seemed to at once arrive at an understanding, they caught one another by the arms to steady themselves, and kicked and jumped on the poor wretch with the most savage satisfaction, each kick being accompanied by a grunt of approval, or a hiss of earnest. Isaac was found in a state of insensibility; his features were battered beyond the possibility of recognition; his clothes torn off him and covered in blood. It is but just to add that the perpetrators of the outrage were committed as soon as Isaac could testify against them.
The following is an extract from knocking about in New Zealand, by Mr. C. L. Money:—“No class of men in the world are less generally known and appreciated than the diggers, In saying this I do not for one moment refer to those curses of a goldfield, the low Irish [1]‘Tips’; for a more cowardly, ruffianly, or brutal character I have never met with than that lively specimen from the Green Isle, who seems to flourish with rank luxuriance in the neighbourhood of gold. He is the man who will, as long as he has a mob of his mates to back him, smash up a store, jump a claim, rob a church, or shoot a gallant and inoffensive young prince, with equal zest.
“These are not the class to whom I refer as diggers. The true digger, whether Irish, Scotch, or English, is a brave, high-spirited working man, ready with his purse as a friend, or with his fist as a foe. The dash of peril which necessarily accompanies the pursuits in which he is so constantly engaged imparts a free and careless bluffness to his manner, which is a great relief from the reserve and formality that prevail among nearly all classes in the old country. I know no more hospitable individual, in the full sense of the word, than this honest, jolly, free-hearted spendthrift. A share of his damper and bacon, or whatever else he may have, a pannikin of tea, or half his blanket or opposum rug, are always at your disposal if you choose to accept them. He on his part would, if compelled to seek it, expect to find the same welcome at your tent door, and would recall the kindness afterwards with gratitude, while endeavouring in every way to make some return.”
- ↑ Short for Tipperary men.