Banking Under Difficulties/Chapter 21
CHAPTER XXI.
12th February, 1865.—At Waimea purchased 500 ozs. of gold; flour very scarce. As soon as the packers arrived at the stores, the diggers took possession of the flour, made up in 50lb. bags, for the convenience of packing. Indeed many of the diggers in their anxiety to get a bag, went down the road to meet the packers, took the flour off the horses’ backs, and carried it to the store on their own. A lot of drunken fellows about in the evening. Had hard work to get rid of them. The treasure, as usual, under my head.
18th February.—Broham, Walmsley, and self started with the gold to the mouth of the creek; the gold on pack horses, we following on foot. Had to “tramp it” to the Arahura, no horses having been sent to meet us. Drove from Arahura to Okatika in a bullock dray. Great excitement in town on the arrival of the escort.
At the Waimea there was a Warden’s Court, and, of course, a warden’s clerk. The gentleman holding that position had an excellent opinion of himself—so much so that he got up a petition from the miners of that locality in favour of his being made a live warden in the place of Mr. Warden Schaw. This little arrangement didn’t come off, and the warden’s clerk remained warden’s clerk still. But he had been in the habit of sitting “on the bench”—that is to say, in a place alongside the magisterial seat—and on the appearance of that most excellent magistrate, Mr, Warden Price, the following colloquy is said to have occurred:—Warden (observing the clerk sitting by his side): “Dear me, h’—m. Have you been made a J.P.?” Clerk: “N—o, sir.” Warden: “Then please take your seat below there” (pointing to the body of the court below the bench). Clerk: “But there is no table;” Warden: “Then get a carpenter to make one immediately, or get a box; get a box, sir!” And the ambitious clerk, of course, subsided. The sequel, however, is better than the story. The following day a brother of the offended clerk, who appears to have been in the Indian army in the capacity of a surgeon, called upon Mr. Warden Price, and the scene that occurred is related to be as follows:—Brother (presenting card): “Sir! I am Mr. So-and-So, an officer in the Indian army. You have insulted my brother, sir!” Warden: “Dear me; h’———m. I have also been an officer in the army. Bailiff! Turn this man out.” Mr. Price’s motto is nemo me impune lacessit.
At this time the roads were so bad that packers found great difficulty in getting from the beach to the Waimea, a distance of five miles, but reckoned twelve. Several diggers, whom I presume to have been unfortunate, took to packing, and amongst others Charles L. Money, known as “Charley the Packer,” and from whose book, “Knocking About in New Zealand,” I have extracted the following:—
“At this time the road from the beach up to the township, a distance of twelve miles, passing, as it did, the whole way through heavy bush and thick undergrowth, and crossing and recrossing the creek bed every hundred yards, was in a condition perfectly inconceivable to those who have not been to a great rush on the West-Coast diggings in New Zealand. Roots of all sizes, torn and mangled when small into a sort of maccaroni squash, and when large remaining a dead hindrance to both horses and man, caused the mud ploughed by cattle and pack-horses to assume the appearance of a torrent; so bad was it that the whole distance was marked by the bones of dead animals. The price given for the package of stores was £3 per hundred for the twelve miles, and I suddenly bethought me of the possibility of making myself into a very profitable pack-horse.
“Turning into the nearest store accordingly, I called for a nobbler, and asked the storeman, while he bittered the decoction, what he would give a man for bringing the various articles he required. He stared on hearing my question, and said, “Why, you’re never going to make a beast of burden of yourself, mate, are you?”
“I replied that I would make any sort of ‘beast’ of myself if the remuneration were only sufficient.
“He said, ‘Well, old man, you bring me the goods, and I’ll pay you the same as the hosses."
”‘Done,’ said I. ‘What are you wanting up most at this time?’
“‘Well,’ said the storekeeper, ‘I’ve had a run on my picks, so you can bring as many of them as you like, though they’re not a lively lot to carry about, and I should fancy would give a man a crick in the back. There’s a little keg of rum waiting for me down at the beach, so you can make up a load the best way you can.’
“I found the keg awkward enough, but the picks were altogether too lively to carry far. After working the skin off the small of my back I left them half way, and completed my journey with the rum cask. Next day, in place of wood and iron, I shouldered a 50lb. bag of flour, and did the distance comfortably, earning thereby 30s. I continued to carry from 50 to 70 lbs. for some days, always increasing little by little the weight of my load. As this was the first time such a thing had been attempted on those diggings, I had to undergo a tremendous fire of ‘Joes’ from every chum I passed. The word ‘Joe’ expresses the derision usually bestowed on new chums on the diggings, or any man acting, or dressing, or speaking in any way considered as outré by the diggers themselves. ‘He laughs who wins,’ and as I knew many who thus jeered were glad to get a pound a-day by even harder work than I was doing for double the money, I could afford to laugh with them. After three weeks’ practice, having become known ‘Charley the Packer,’ I had plenty of orders to carry up every description of store, from tea and gin cases, to soap and salt fish, and seldom after that did I shoulder less than 100 lbs. Times getting dull about the Six-mile, I was joined one by one by many others, several of whom had been among the first to ‘Joe’ me at the beginning. Never having strained myself beyond my powers, I did not feel any ill effects from the heavy labour I underwent, though 100 lbs. was a weight which very few cared to carry on such a track. Two men who had taken to this means of gaining their livelihood fell victims of their ambition, for, instead of commencing with the calf and ending with the bull, as I had done, they staggered under the full weight of 100-lb. bags of flour, sugar, &c., till their strength gave way, and their coffins had to be prepared for them. A day or two after the demise of one of these poor fellows I took a bag of flour to Charlie M‘Leod, the storekeeper, who, being a carpenter by trade, did duty when required as an undertaker.
“As I dropped my load inside the door, Charlie looked up from his hammering, and eyeing it where it lay, said, pointing to his work, ‘Thought one was enough, but I guess I’ll want your measure, old hoss, before long;’ and he believed it too.”
23rd February, 1865.—Purchased an allotment for the bank, and put up a small building thereon; size, 12 by 12.
5th March.—Westland goldfields proclaimed first week in March. W. C. Revell appointed resident magistrate and warden, sworn in at Wellington by Judge Johnstone; also appointed Deputy Commissioner of Customs. Messrs. Seed and Limming came down to arrange matters.
6th March.—Purchased the largest parcel of gold that has as yet been sold on the coast—600 ozs.—from a party of miners, four in number, the result of two months’ work. Two steamers off the bar—Nelson and Stormbird. The Nelson tried the bar, stern first. Finding she could not manage it, steamed on to the Grey, followed by the Stormbird. The rush may now be said to be fairly set in. Finding the place going ahead so rapidly, Mr. Broham marked off a street at the back of, and parallel to Revell-street, which he named Wharf-street; the steamers lying just at the foot of it by the river bank, and where they discharged cargo. Twelve or more allotments were pegged off. Broham put as many numbers in his hat as there were allotments, which were drawn by the few persons about at the time. The allotments were valued at £20 each, and in less than two months were selling from £200 to £300.
7th March.—I started for Nelson per s.s. Wallabi.
8th March.—Met a small steamer (Waipara), bound for Hokitika, her first trip. Arrived at Nelson at five p.m.; when we reached the wharf, had quite a rush of business people on board, all eager to hear the latest news, and in a frantic state of excitement when they heard we had brought up 1900 ozs. of gold, the escort up to this time not exceeding 700 ozs.
26th March.—Started again for the West Coast per ss. Nelson. Arrived off Hokitika on the morning of the 28th, and found quite a fleet of vessels in the roadstead; took passengers from two or three of them at £1 per head; crossed the bar soon after ten; found the s.s. Stormbird ashore on the North Spit; scarcely knew the place again, it had so changed; found Revell-street nearly a mile long, some very good buildings erected; no end of shanties, and the street crowded with diggers, so crowded that it was with difficulty I elbowed my way through; went over to see my friend Broham, with whom I had lunch; found quite a crowd of Government officials at the camp, Messrs. Seed, Revell, Rolleston, Kenrick, Mallet, and Limming having arrived from Christchurch per Nelson on the 19th March. On the 21st Mr. Revell opened an office in a tent, and issued the first miner’s right to a brother of his, Mr. H. Revell.
At the time of which I am writing money was so plentiful that all seemed to have more than sufficient for their needs. Of course it was the gold-digger who made the capital for all, but that capital was distributed in many curious ways. I well remember one young fellow, of a type that would seem impossible to any but a colonist. He was the son of a professional man, and had been educated with a view to succeeding his father, but after trying that and various other occupations, banking included, he determined to come to the West Coast and try his luck.
Here he did almost anything and everything. He was by turns clerk, Customs-house officer, auctioneer, digger, and at last paper seller and general postman. It is in connection with the last that his experiences may prove interesting. They are as nearly as possible in his own words, as related by him to me many years after:—
“You want to know about my ‘paper-running’ experiences! Ah! Those were queer days, and money as plentiful as dirt.“I have told you that I went into the Custom-house, of which I soon got tired. After leaving that I hardly knew what to do. I had but little money. One day I was in the shop of a bookseller, with whom I was acquainted. I asked him if he knew of anything that would suit me. ‘Yes,’ he replied, “there’s a fortune to be made paper-running at the diggings.’ After a little talk,I thought I could but try it.
“At that time, once one left Greytown, there was no postal communication to any one of the numerous diggings situated on and about the Grey River, although they must have contained a population of some 5000.
“Accordingly the next day I started with a stock of papers on my back to travel round the various diggings. The first halting place was Notown, a small village about twelve miles from Greymouth. Up to here I went in a whale boat, which was partly pulled, partly poled, and the rest of the distance dragged up by the crew—they up to their waists in water, with a rope over their shoulders. This was termed ‘tracking.’ Such a trip as it was! The boatmen, the roughest and strongest men that could be got, were half their time wet through with water, to eliminate which from their system they consistently soaked themselves with rum. Every few trips some one of them would lose his life, as the smallest slip in a rapid river like the Grey meant almost certain death. Once safely arrived at Notown, I used to start for German Gully, about eight miles away. Road there simply was none; it was a mere track cut through the dense bush, and available for pack-horses only. These used to go sliding and slipping along, and every now and then one would get hopelessly bogged. Then, should there not be sufficient help to get it out, the poor brute would be unloaded and simply left to sink deeper and deeper, until at last he sank out of sight, engulphed in the horrible morass.
“Once at the diggings, however, all previous discomfort was forgotten. ‘Paper!’ A regular rush!
“‘Here you are lad! Give me an Australasian. How much?’
“‘Five bob, old man.’
“‘Give it here then.’
“‘Have you a Nation there?’
“‘One left only, I want a pound for it.’
“‘Too much, I’ll give you fifteen bob!’
“‘All right, collar,’ and paper and money would change hands.
“It was simply coining money. The regular price was 5s. for any of the Australian weeklies, and as much as you could get, but never less than 10s. for any of the home papers.
“The life though was simply awful. At that time, to many of the diggings, food had to be carried on men’s backs. Flour ranged from 9d. to 1s. 6d. the pannikin full, and other things in proportion. Thus it will be seen that although one got 2s. 6d. for posting a letter, and as much more for bringing one from the Greymouth post-office, it was money hardly earned. In a fortnight’s trip I usually used to make from £40 to £50. With this I used, when I got to Greymouth, to make myself comfortable, and live as a gentleman for about a fortnight or three weeks. Of course I was a young fool in those days, and made the money fly, and even then there were a certain percentage of well-bred loafers who were only too happy to be ‘shouted’ for without having to ‘shout’ in return.
“On one occasion whilst at ‘Red Jack’s’ I heard of a way to Notown that would materially shorten the distance. I had nearly sold out, and was on my way down to Greymouth. I had with me nearly £100, besides a few watches given to me to get repaired, as well as several letters. By this time my constant appearance at, or near the stated time, had invested me with all the privileges of a postman. Mails to the outlying districts there were none.
“To me came a digger. ‘You want to find the short track to Notown.’
“‘I do.’
“‘Then we’ll travel in company, for I am going there too, and know the way.’
“‘Thanks,’ I replied, ‘we had better start at once.’ It was then about three p.m., and the short track was reckoned eight miles.
“Before going we had of course the usual ‘liquor up, in fact two or three, and my guide also took some with him.
“After some steep climbing, we found ourselves on the top of a range, having walked about four miles. There were several tracks about, leading to various old prospecting claims, most of which had been long since deserted. ‘Are you quite sure of the way,’ I asked.
“‘Yes, I think so,’ was my companion’s reply.’ ‘At any rate this is our direction.’
“I thought this pleasant, especially as a dense mizzling rain was falling, rendering it impossible to distinguish the points of the compass.
“We walked on for about a mile when my mate exclaimed, ‘I believe we’re wrong after all! Anyhow, Notown must lie this way.’
“I remonstrated and endeavoured to induce him to camp where we were, and return on the same track in the morning, wishing heartily I had not taken the short (?) track.
“It was of no avail, and not wishing to be left behind, I started into the bush with him.
“‘Soon night closed in. Nothing was to be heard to disturb the deathlike silence but the drip, drip, of the rain, or the melancholy cry of the ‘weka’ or Maori hen. Cold, weary, footsore, blanketless, and supperless, we had nothing to do but watch for the first dawn of day. Certainly we had my mate’s bottle of rum. I had, I think, two small drinks of it.
“Next morning I awoke! Yes, I found that I had slept, that the grog must have been drugged, and that my guide (?) had decamped, having robbed me of all my cash and two of the most valuable of the watches entrusted to my charge. Here was a predicament! I had had nothing to eat since the previous night. I was utterly bushed, and half stupefied with the drug that had been used. It was no use, however, crying over spilt milk. I started in what I thought was the direction of Notown, and after two days of utter misery, found myself utterly worn out on the summit of what appeared to be a dividing range. Which side should I descend? If I made a mistake I knew I was too exhausted to retrace my steps. My late friend had left me a solitary shilling.
“I tossed up—heads to the right hand, tails to the left. Fortunately it was ‘tails to the left.’ I descended the range to the left, and after about half-a-day, such as I hope never again to experience, I found myself on the banks of the Grey River.
“In about an hour more a boat came close to where I was lying. I hailed it, and on relating my story was kindly taken to Greymouth, where, by the aid of some good Samaritans, I was enabled to lie up for about a fortnight. Having recovered I got a stock of papers on credit, but it was my last run. During my absence others had taken my place, and soon after I again returned to the digging.
“I may add that the diggers whose watches had been stolen refused to accept any compensation. I, of course, informed the police, but the thief was never taken. Verily poverty makes one acquainted with strange bed fellows.”
