Banking Under Difficulties/Chapter 26
CHAPTER XXVI.
Truly the banker of the old digging days was different to that curled darling, Montmorenci Fitz Jones, idol of the block and much invited out of Potts Point. A slab hut, roofed with galvanized iron, formed but a sorry contrast to the palatial buildings in the cities, or the comfortable residences in the towns of the present day. As will have been seen, in many instances a tent was deemed sufficient in which to transact business of thousands per diem. The manager, too, had to be “hail fellow well met,” by no means too proud to go out and have a nobbler with the lucky seller of a large parcel of gold. Clerks did their work on hot days with their coats off, and on cold wet ones, with hats, and greatcoats on, and often a lighted pipe was a welcome solace, whilst standing at the counter. What would a smug clerk of the Bank of England, who would probably faint at his counter or desk, without the regulation dress coat, think of this.
Scene—Country Bank.
Enter lucky digger loq.
“I say, boss, what are you giving for gold?”
Manager.—“Turn it out in this dish, and let me have a look at it.” Digger turns it out.
Manager.—“That’s Waimea gold; can’t give you more than £3 17s. an ounce.”
Digger.—“That be blowed! Why the Bank of New Zealand’s giving £3 18s.”
Manager.—“Not for Waimea gold.”
At last a price is agreed upon, and the cleaning process commences. The gold is placed in a small copper scoop, and is stirred round with a powerful magnet to clear it of any iron that may be amongst it. It is then carefully shaken up, until any sand that may be in it is brought to the front. This is blown out (a sort of careful winnowing in fact). By these means the gold is cleared from all impurities. I may explain to the entirely uninitiated, that this only applies to alluvial gold; for that found in reefs, another and much more elaborate process is necessary. The copper scoop must of course be thoroughly dry; and so damp was the climate of the West Coast that I had frequently to carry about with me a small stove, over which the scoops were placed.
A banker again is not usually the sort of man upon whom one would expect practical jokes to be played. The digger, however, reverences no one, as will be seen by the following little incident:—
Enter into the bank a digger.
“I say, Mister, how do you sell crinolines?”
“What do you mean?” was my reply.
“Well, old man, you needn’t be so scotty; only when a fellow sees a crinoline hanging over the door he naturally thinks they’re for sale.”
I rushed out, and sure enough, exposed to the gaze of an admiring crowd, was a prodigious crinoline that had been quietly hung over the door by my neighbour, Mr. B., a large storekeeper. There was nothing for it but to join in the laugh, and endeavour to repay the joke, which I did—with interest—by misplacing some of his price tickets on his goods, and sending an irascible digger to purchase the cheap goods.
“Let’s have four pair of them moleskins, same as you have ticketed up outside.”
The trousers—whose ticket I had altered from 12s. to 4s.—were made up into a neat parcel, and 16s. duly deposited for payment.
“Some mistake, sir,” said B.; “these moles are 12s. a pair.”
“Then what the sanguinary sheol are those you have outside marked 4s.! Another dodge, I suppose; you don’t Jew me, old man; let’s see them as is ticketed,”
B. of course explains he has none at that price, and when, after a rather heated discussion, he is dragged outside to see, he protests it’s a mistake, &c. But this his customer wont see, and makes such a row that he is eventually allowed to go away with-his cheap purchase. Next day I remarked to B. that “I heard he was selling moleskins cheaper than I could afford to sell crinolines.”
When a big, or in fact any account is now opened, we all know that there is some small business-like work done. The signature is taken leisurely, and the whole transaction is methodically completed.
One day, walking along the beach, I met Mr. K., of the well-known firm of K——— Brothers.
“Just the man I wanted to see. You’re Mr. Preshaw, aren’t you.”
“Yes,” I replied. “I want to open an account with your bank; you may as well take the money now,” handing me a deposit consisting of notes, gold, and silver coin, which I transferred to my trousers pocket, at the same time making a memorandum of the transaction in my pocket-book. I bid Mr. K. “Good day,” and went on my way.
On another occasion, I gave a man on the beach, a deposit receipt on a leaf torn from my pocket-book. These and similar instances will show how implicitly anyone connected with banking was trusted in those days. Unfortunately, the converse would not always hold good. A favourite trick of the diggers was to endeavour to pass off gold from one part as having been obtained at another.
The assays of the different diggings varied immensely, and whilst some gold was worth £3 18s. per oz., that from other diggings might not be worth more than £3 12s. However, after a little practice one soon got used to these little tricks, and it was astonishing with what ease one could “place” any particular parcel of gold brought in.
I hardly think, however, that many of our colonials would have exhibited the same amount of gullibility as is shown in the following extract from the Bankers’ Magazine:—
“The London Banker and the Irish Mountain.—The flourishing seaport of Sligo, on the north-western coast of Ireland, is celebrated for the boldness and beauty of its scenery. A short distance from the town there is a perpendicular or slightly sloping mountain, called Ben Bulben, better known in Ireland than in England. About half a century ago a trader in Sligo, more remarkable for enterprise than integrity, having exhausted all the legitimate and ordinary means of raising money, conceived the idea of floating fictitious acceptances, and with this object he forwarded to his English banker for discount several bills of exchange drawn on and accepted by Ben Bulben and Co. The London banker not being acquainted with the acceptors, wrote to his Irish correspondent for his confidential opinion of the firm. The latter, well known for his humour, and treating the inquiry as a joke, replied as follows:—“The parties inquired about are long resident in this locality, and are looked up to as the most extensive landholders in this district, possessing within their own limits the varied resources of rich pasture, turbary, and inexhaustible supply of mineral wealth and an unrivalled water power. In character, Ben, the principal of the partnership, is what we call here a stiff-necked sort of fellow, and I have heard it said that if his cap were on he would not take it off to royalty. Although he is constantly imbibing mountain dew—a term often used to express illicit spirits—his steadiness is undoubted; and as to his stability, it cannot be questioned—as in fact he is the principal of the chain of mountains which run through this and the adjoining counties.’ This description, though meant as a joke, was actually considered by the London banker as a boná fide communication, and though the bills were actually drawn on Ben Bulben and Co., a mountain range near Sligo, they were actually discounted, and the manager of the bank, when the fraud was discovered, was compelled to resign.”
With all the apparent roughness, and seemingly loose way of doing business, great care had to be exercised, and if some, accustomed to the strict discipline of the head office, rejoiced at the apparent slackness, they soon found that, though it was pleasant enough to have a yarn with a customer in the middle of the day, yet it was more than made up by having to get up possibly at night to buy a parcel of gold, or that riding on business was very nice, but when it came to your horse bolting, upsetting you, and leaving you to foot it some ten or twenty miles, carrying possibly some 500 ozs. of gold, it was not altogether so pleasant. How would some of my young juniors in Sydney like the following experience of a well-known officer, for the truth of which I can vouch, and which I give in his own words:—
“In 1863, when acting as junior at Manuherikea agency, situated at the junction of the river of that name with the Clutha, Mr. Yates paid a visit of inspection, on the completion of which he said:—
“‘Youngster, I will require you to accompany me to the Teviot to bring down cash, and collect gold bought by our storekeepers.’
“‘What am I to ride, Mr. Yates?” “‘The grey, of course; I can get nothing else.’
“This announcement was not very comforting to me, seeing that Sherman’s rough rider had been entertaining the residents with his feats of horsemanship on this animal. I could ride, but not with the seat required to maintain one’s position on a buck-jumper, and the grey could go in a “docker” when started. I quietly took my chance. The nag was brought out the following morning; all the good folk turned out to see the fun. Luckily for me a friendly packer who was going with me, said—
“‘Leave your spurs behind, and don’t touch her with your heels.”
“Following his advice, I mounted. Yates had a twinkle in his eye, but my friend pushed his horse alongside of the grey, took a lead, and to my relief she followed without a kick. Our road lay over the Nobby ranges, and when nearing a deep chasm or gorge about three miles from the Teviot, Yates, seeing my steed travelling as lively as a bag of fleas, said:
“‘You take my horse as you are a light weight, and I will ride your mount.’
“As we had to lead our horses down and up, to cross this ravine, I took the lead with Yates’ horse, and being young and active, I was up and out of it some time before my boss. The thought then struck me if he rips his spurs into her there will be a kick-up. I went ahead, keeping good look-out behind. I saw him mount, but the horse did not move ahead. Yates weighed over 16 stone, and had a good seat, so I had no fear for him, and therefore went on my way, reaching Ballentyne’s store. Long after, in marched Yates, leading the grey, and speaking in strong language. He informed me that if I had remained he would have finished his journey on his own horse. I thought so too.
“After our supper of sardines and dry bread, I said, ‘Where am I to sleep?’
“‘Anywhere you like, except in those two bunks, one being Ballentyne’s, the other mine.’
“Ballentyne said there was a tent outside with a flour bag stretched between two poles, and he gave me half a blanket. The night was bitterly cold, with heavy snow, and the place was swarming with rats, so that I was glad when daylight came.’
“‘What have you for breakfast?’ I asked.
“‘A tin of cold fish and bread.’
“‘I will try for something better in the township.’
I found a small shanty, and on asking if they could furnish me with a hot breakfast, was informed they could, and a good steak was the result, which I had hardly finished when the chief’s rosy face appeared.
“‘Holloa, you here? What! had breakfast? Landlord, get some ready for me,’ and a good comfortable tuck-in the ‘old man’ had.
“We were now ready for work, and after riding many miles, visiting numbers of small stores, we took their various purchases, leaving cash for future operations. Night saw us back again at the wretched Ballentyne erection with 500 ozs. of gold, which Yates slept on, while I went to roost with the rats.
“Next morning we started on our return journey, but with only one horse, as the grey belonged to a party at Teviot, and we expected to get a bank horse that was turned out at a place near Teviot. When we reached there, found that the horse could not travel. Yates determined to go on ‘ride and tie.’ The latter operation was effected with the aid of snow-poles, which a thoughtful Government had provided to guide travellers over this wild range. The snow was heavy under foot, and dense in the air, and we blessed these poles. As it was not safe to leave the gold on the saddle, on fastening the horse to the pole, the rider humped the gold until the mounted one overtook him and relieved him. Now, 500 ozs. of gold is a heavy handicap to carry in snow, and we did not reach Manuherikea until night. Here we borrowed a dray-horse and journeyed on to the Dunstan township—Yates’ head-quarters—where we arrived late at night.”
This trip will give some idea of the exposure and peril which this devoted servant of the bank was always ready and willing to face in the interests of the great institution he so well served, and will also illustrate the training which Mr. Yates gave his juniors, which, though severe, was looked back upon with feelings of thankfulness by those officers who served under him.
On reviewing my past life on the goldfields, especially that part of it spent on the West Coast of New Zealand, I wonder how I could have gone through the dangers and hardships I did. Nothing would induce me to go through the old life again. For the first six months of my stay on the Coast, I had no office. My safe was for a time at Waite’s store—afterwards removed, for convenience sake, to the Teremakau. I was continually on the move, following the different rushes. I had no home. When at the Grey I had my meals and a bed at the police camp, with my friends Broham and O’Donnell. When on the move, had to do the best I could; sometimes have a meal at a shanty; sometimes purchase a tin of sardines, and a few ship biscuits; sometimes have a meal of seagulls’ eggs, and so on. Once a week, my wife, who was living in Nelson, sent me a kerosene tin filled with home-made bread, cake, potatoes, and different sorts of vegetables (the only time we got any, none being procurable for love or money). These I took to the police camp and shared with my friends. I had to do my own washing and mending—a good deal of it, too—my stock of clothing being limited, and the wear and tear being very great. One had to be extra particular as regards personal cleanliness in those days, for sleeping in all sorts of places, and with all sorts of persons, one was apt to get more than he bargained for, in the shape of pediculus (humanis corporis). As to sleeping accommodation, I was fairly well-off when at the Grey, but when on the move I had to sleep on the damp ground—a sack under me, and my fly-blown blankets about me. I always slept in my clothes, boots, hat, and all; the saddle-bags, containing gold-dust, gold and silver coin, under my head for a pillow; the notes about my person, inside my Crimean shirt; my revolver by my side. Oftentimes I have slept on the beach on a log, just above high-water mark. I chose this airy situation to escape these pests—the sandflies, mosquitoes, and bush rats.
For the first month I had no horse, and had to do my journeys on foot, carrying a pair of saddle-bags on my shoulder. On the up journey it was comparatively easy work, but on the return trip, with 500 or 600 ozs. of gold-dust, it was no joke. Such a road too; the first ten miles beach travelling, then inland through dense bush, with only a bridle track, almost impassable in wet weather. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for a man to have popped me off from behind a tree and dragged my body into the bush—where the chances are it would have never been discovered—and gone off with the treasure. Fortunately for me the attempt was never made. Rivers had to be crossed in canoes, and the creeks on foot, in places waist deep.
When I got a horse, my journey then on leaving the beach was up the river beds. On the Greenstone trip, the Teremakau had to be crossed no less than four times. The first and second fords were the worst, the bottom being very rough, with large and slippery boulders, and strong current. The second ford was the most dangerous, the river being ten feet deep in the middle, for ten or twelve yards, necessitating a swim. Each time I came to this ford, I looked at the opposite bank, and wondered if I would be fortunate enough to reach it. My horse—good little Nobby— evidently knew the danger as well as his master. As we reached the ford, he would cock his ears, and carefully feel his way, until he found the water over his back, when he would put forth his utmost strength, I keeping a gentle pressure on the rein, and his head well up stream, until he regained his foot-hold. Poor little Nobby, he was a good and faithful servant. When I gave over my perilous journeys he was sold to a butcher, and came to an untimely end, being killed by falling down a digger’s shaft.
