Banking Under Difficulties/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI.
Campbell's Creek.—My First Gold Digging.—Gold License.— License Hunting.
In the month of December, 1852, my father paid us a flying visit, and returned with my eldest sister, who was one of the first women on the Mount Alexander diggings. She drove up in a cart on the top of some loading, and was five days on the road. As they rode through Forest Creek the cry ran along the lead, "A woman! a woman!" Men shouted out to their mates below, who hurried to the top, and hundreds of eyes were fixed on her the whole way from Golden Point till she reached her future home at Campbell's Creek. Not many weeks after I was sent for, and although my fare was paid to ride on the dray, I was so anxious to say I had performed the journey to the diggings on foot, that I walked every inch of the way. About a fortnight after the remaining portion of the family arrived. We found a most comfortable tent (12 x 20) erected, with door, window, and chimney (these alone cost £20), boarded and lined with drugget throughout. It was divided into two rooms; the front one (12 x 12) was our best parlour, the other my parents' bedroom. In the front of the tent a flag-pole was erected and a flag kept flying.
Some years ago I was reading Dickens' "Household Words," when I came across the following:—"There can be no difficulty in finding doctors, as it is the custom for new arrivals to advertise full particulars of their birth, parentage, and education. The majority are Scotch and Irish, some intensely national; we note Dr. Preshaw, of Edinburgh. He begs to intimate that he has pitched his tent at Moonlight Flat, Forest Creek. Dr. Preshaw has been engaged in extensive practice for twenty-four years; his tent will be distinguished by his name across an ensign flying, and a Scotch thistle on end."
When we arrived at Campbell’s Creek, the flat now known as Preshaw’s Flat was a beautiful green sward. We had not been there many days before a party of diggers put down a shaft in front of our tent. They bottomed at a depth of about 40 ft., and although they got gold, still not in any quantity. The very fact of gold being obtained, however, caused a rush, and before a week passed fully 1000 men were on the ground. Although living so near, none of us pegged out a claim till late in the day, and had to content ourselves with a hole down by the side of the creek. Many of the claims were 24 ft. square. Four men’s ground yielded 40 lbs. weight of gold. A party of Cornishmen living close to us did remarkably well; instead of washing-up as they got out the washdirt, as was done in most instances, they piled it up in a heap close to their own tent, protected by three or four dogs, and only washed up when the claim was worked out. It was a pretty sight to see their heaps of washdirt after a shower of rain; nuggets varying in weight from 2 or 3 pennyweights to an ounce, sticking out in all directions—a regular jeweller’s shop.
I was a young digger, being only thirteen years of age, but there were no schools on the diggings in those days, and all hands had to make themselves generally useful. My first attempt at digging was in the creek, opposite Captain Simpson’s store, where I managed to knock out half an ounce a day, but a rush breaking out at the back of where Watson’s store now stands, and at that time known as Lushington Hill, I left for that place. At the top part of the hill the claims were from 30 to 40 feet deep, and very rich. The gold was found in the pipe clay; so rich were some of the claims that the lucky owners kept watch below all night, armed with revolvers. Two of my brothers had a claim at the bottom of the hill, in the shallow ground, six feet sinking; on returning from work one day, they said, “Come with us in the morning, and we will show you a hole next to ours which the owner has left; shepherd for twentyfour hours, then jump it.” I did so; on going down the hole I found it had not been bottomed, the party sinking it having come on a large flat stone which he had mistaken for the bottom, this I took up with the assistance of my brothers, and then I found the true bottom, about eight inches of wash dirt with gold showing throughout. This I put in a bag in the orthodox fashion, and carried on my shoulder to the creek, some 200 yards away; there I put it into a tub and puddled until I had extracted all the clay, then put it through the cradle, panned off, and to my delight in weighing off at night after it had been carefully dried and cleaned, found I had three ounces of gold, or about nine pounds sterling for my day’s work. Next day I commenced to drive, i.e., to tunnel, put in a drive about three feet high, and as many wide and long, when I took out the wash dirt. On picking it out the gold appeared so thick that I jumped out of the hole and called to my brothers to come and see the vein, several about heard me and came rushing over to where I was. I went through the usual process, and at the end of the day was rewarded with another three ounces. This sort of thing continued until the claim was worked out. My next did not turn out so well, in fact was what is known in digging parlance as a duffer, i.e., no good. The rush soon broke out at Preshaw’s Flat, and although late in the day our party managed to secure a hole on the creek side, which turned out well; the ground was very soft, fully seven feet of drift sand from the bottom, this had all to be taken out, no driving being required, the sand being just shovelled into the buckets. On one occasion one of my mates called out to me to come down and hold the candle while he fossicked a nugget out of a little pocket, one of my brothers being at the windlass handle ready to lower me down. I, sitting at the edge of the hole, slid off rather suddenly, and jerked the handle out of his hands, which hit him on the breast, knocking him over. I fell twenty-four feet, and on a sharp-edged slaty bottom. Fortunately for me my mate below, hearing the row, was on the look out; and, as soon as I reached the bottom, he hauled me into the drive—not a moment too soon—for the heavy barrel of the windlass came crashing along after me. I was a good deal shaken, and was incapacitated for a fortnight. On another occasion I was driving in loose ground when some of the drift gave way and partly buried me. I had only my head and hands free, and was dug out by one of my brothers, who was at hand. We afterwards started a puddling-machine, in which we put through a lot of surface stuff, and did very well. The license paid by the diggers in those days was £2 per month, and was afterwards reduced to 30s. On the next page will be seen a fac simile of the form of Gold License of that day, 1853.
On one occasion my license had run out. I was working on Preshaw’s Flat, next to a tent which was full of hay, when, on looking round, I found the “traps” (as the policemen were called in those days) distributed all over the flat hunting for licenses. On seeing them I called out to my mate who was below, “The traps are coming, I’ll hide in the hay.” “Allright,” said he, and came out of the hole. I burrowed into the hay. I had not been there long before I heard a voice say “Come out, I see you.” I was as still as a mouse. In a minute or two I felt someone beating at the hay, saying “I see your legs; come out of that.” I was in an awful state; however, I didn't budge. I must have been there fully half an hour, when my mate called out “all right now.” Out I came bathed in perspiration, and glad to leave my prison. On going home to dinner I was talking about my imprisonment in the hay, when I noticed all hands tittering, and then found out that my mate had been playing a joke on me; that the policemen had not come near the tent, and that it was he who had almost frightened the life out of me. I would not, however, risk such another escapade, and went over to the camp and renewed my license without delay.
Close to our tent lived one Redcap, who had no license, and who said “He would never take out one; he would dodge the commissioner.” One day, when panning-off some washdirt, Commissioner G——— pounced upon him unexpectedly. On being asked to produce his license he said, “Mine has just run out, I GOLD 
LICENSE
COLONY OF VICTORIA.
The Bearer, Geo. Preshaw, having paid the Sum of TWO POUNDS, on account of the General Revenue of the Colony, I hereby License him to mine or dig for Gold, or exercise and carry on any other trade or calling on such Crown Lands within the Colony of Victoria, as shall be assigned to him for these purposes by any one duly authorised in that behalf.
This license to be in force until and during the MONTH of NOVEMBER and no longer;
Commissioner.
REGULATIONS TO BE OBSERVED BY THE PERSONS DIGGING FOR GOLD OR OTHERWISE EMPLOYED AT THE GOLD FIELDS.
1. This License is to be carried on the person, to be produced whenever demanded by any Commissioner, Peace Officer, or other duly authorised person, and is not transferable.
2. No Mining will be permitted where it would be destructive of any line of road which it is necessary to maintain, and which shall be determined by any Commissioner, nor within such distance around any store as it may be necessary to reserve for access to it.
3. It is enjoined that all persons on the Gold Field maintain a due and proper observance of Sundays.
4. The extent of claim allowed to each Licensed Miner is twelve feet square, or 144 square feet.
5. To a party consisting of two Miners, twelve feet by twenty-four, or 288 square feet.
6. To a party consisting of three Miners, eighteen feet by twenty-four, or 432 square feet.
7. To a party consisting of four Miners, twenty-four feet by twenty-four, or 576 square feet: beyond which no greater area will be allowed in one claim.
was waiting for you to come round to get a fresh one.” The commissioner took out his book and commenced to write, when Redcap said, “There he goes, cradle and all.” “Who?” said the commissioner. “Don’t you see him,” said Redcap, “He's just rounded that tent.” “I'll have him,” said the commissioner. “Constable, you go that way, I’ll go this.” Away they went; meantime Redcap made off. The commissioner returned soon after, in a profuse state of perspiration after his chase. On inquiring for the man who wanted a license, he was informed that he was non ext.
The same commissioner wore white kid gloves, and on one license-hunting expedition come across a man puddling, “I want to see your license, my man.” “Certainly, sir, put your hand in my waistcoat pocket and you will find it, my hands are too dirty.” The commissioner could not do this without soiling his gloves, so left, saying, “Never mind, all right.” B——— and his mates had a hearty laugh at selling the commissioner.
Dr.——— was a good specimen of an English gentleman, and though now in his blue guernsey and the other accompaniments of a digger’s rig, had not forgotten the “roast beef of Old England.” Previous to his going out on his morning round he had been to the nearest butcher’s stall and procured a prime joint, which he left in charge of his hut keeper, who had mounted an impromptu spit in front of a large fire. The doctor left, saying he would be home by noon. “All right, sir, I’ll have the dinner ready.” The joint was slowly turning round and round when John heard the cry of “Peelers.” He thought at first that somebody was offering an insult to his master, and on looking out of the door was confronted by a policeman, who demanded his license, “It’s in the box,” quoth John, “the doctor has it with the others.” “Doctor be d———d; don’t trifle with me; if you can’t produce your license you must walk this way; you're not the only one; come along.” John remonstrated, pointed to the roast before the fire; but it was of no use, he was marched off with some fifty diggers, who had been “rolled up” from Golden Point.
After relating the foregoing incident it may be most appropriate to give a fuller account of this obnoxious custom, from the pages of Withers’ “History of Ballarat.” It is there stated :— “When the European gold-hunter arrived in Victoria, just after the gold discovery, he no sooner found himself upon the gold-fields than he was unpleasantly brought into contact with a Government, in the construction of which, and in the direction of whose policy he had no more voice than the naked aborigine he saw prowling about the bush. Before he could legally put pick or shovel in the ground the digger had to pay a heavy monthly tax, levied upon him by a Government and Parliament in which he was not represented. At first for £1 10s., then for £3, and then again for £1 10s. per month. In this we have the symbol of grievances that roused the goldfields population. There was a heavy tax levied monthly by a non-representative executive. That tax was often oppressive in itself, and unequal in its incidence, and it was often collected in so insolent a manner that its unpopularity became a thousandfold greater. Here—illustrative of the sport of license or digger hunting—is an episode from a lecture by Mr. William Benson, once an escort-trooper in South Australia, then a reporter of the Ballarat Times. The lecture was delivered at a working men’s temperance meeting, in the Alfred Hall, on Saturday, 19th February, 1870:— “I had been for some short time, in 1853, occupied at the store of Messrs. Hilfling (?) and Greig, on the township where the drapery establishment of David Jones and Company now stands; not very well liking my employment I was on my way to the labour office, on Bakery Hill, to offer for a stock-rider’s billet. Being dressed in somewhat digger costume, and walking near where the Yarrow bridge now is, I heard behind me a stentorian voice, ‘Hallo! you fellow!’ I turned round, in speechless horror! There, at full gallop, at the head of fifteen or twenty mounted troopers—with scabbards clattering and stirrups jingling—rode a stalwart black-looking chief of the digger-hunters. ‘Hallo! I say you, sir!’ thundered forth he, with a mighty flourish of his sword, glittering in the beautiful sunlight, ‘Have you got a license?’ Worse luck to me I never was a digger, even when gold could be got by pounds weight. ‘Well?’ there flourished the sword of the mighty hunter, and I stammered forth, ‘No.’ At that moment up came the mounted and foot police. ‘Take this man into custody,’ shouts the leader of the troop, and off he galloped. I, in my simplicity, saw the mighty hunter did not recognise me; he was a sergeant of police at Adelaide when I was Government escort trooper there. ‘Well,’ says my custodian, ‘all I know is that I am going to take you to quod.’ (This was the ‘logs.’) But all this time I was being taken away from the ‘logs’ (or camp lock-up), and near where the corner of Barkly-street now is we found another guardian of the spoil of the hunters, holding in terror of his formidable weapon, a real digger, whose clothes bespoke him to be a sojourner amongst the holes of the Red Hill. We were marched up the slope of Golden Point, the troopers and foot-police far in advance; but I refused to go further and sat down. One of the diggers near, espying my bespattered comrade in distress, called out, ‘Hullo mate, what’s the row?’ ‘Got license,’ grumbles out the Red Hill digger. ‘Can’t you get bail,’ sings out the charitable minded questioner. ‘Not I,’ returns the other, ‘or I shouldn’t be without a license.’ No more ado, but into his tent walks he of the charitable mind, and out he shortly comes and walking straight up to my fellow captive, thrusts into his brawny hand five £1 notes, saying, ‘There's the bail money,’ and off he walked. ‘Know you that man?’ said I to my astonished mate in misfortune. ‘Never saw him before in my life,’ he replied, ‘but he is a good fellow, and one of the right sort.’ Benson and his companion were both bailed, and, after the examination before the bench, the digger was fined in the amount of his bail, Benson escaped fine, and after some delay recovered his bail.” Such episodes abounded with variations in detail. From an unpublished manuscript by Mr. R. M. Sergeant, descriptive of the times under discussion, the following comic picture is taken:—
“We marked a couple of claims on the Eureka, and one or two at Prince Regent’s Gully. On returning home one afternoon we found our gully (Specimen Gully) surrounded by the force, on the hunt for licenses. I noticed our sod chimney smoking, and the hut door—an old flour sack stretched on a frame of wattle saplings—wide open. I expected that Joe, our cooking mate, could not very well escape two of the police who were marching straight into the doorway. I had approached within a few yards of the scene, license-paper in hand, when the traps stepped back, as I thought, rather hastily; and, to my surprise, were confronted on the threshold by a smart genteel-looking female, who politely inquired their business, and the next moment, espying me close in the rear, said, “Perhaps my brother can answer your inquiries, gentlemen.” The gentlemen, however, who were not amongst the rudest of their class, begged pardon and turned on their heels in search of more easy prey, while I proceeded to introduce myself to my newly-found sister, whom I then saw throwing up her heels and cutting most unlady-like capers round the dining-room table. In the course of the evening Joe intimated that as he had resolved never to take out a license, he should, if we had no objection, continue to wear his new style of attire, and that in future his name was to be “Josephine.” Mr. Sergeant gives us another lively view of the digger-hunting process:—
“‘Traps! Traps! Joe! Joe!’ were the well-known signals which announced that the police were out on a license raid, now becoming almost of daily occurrence. The hasty abandonment of tubs and cradles by fossickers and outsiders, and the great rushes of shepherds to the deep hole on the flat as the police hove in view, readily told that there were not a few among them who believed in the doctrine that “Base is the slave who pays.” Hunting the digger was evidently regarded by Mr. Commissioner Sleuth and his hounds as a source of delightful recreation, and one of such paramount importance to the State that the sport was reduced to an exact science. Thus given: A couple of dirty constables in diggers’ guise, jumping a claim; gentle shepherd[1] approaches, with dilapidated shovel on his shoulder, and proceeds to dispossess intruders in summary manner. A great barney then ensues—Constable Derwent and his mate talk big. A crowd gathers round, and “A ring! a ring!” is the cry. The combatants have just commenced to shape, when the signal referred to at the head of this paragraph rings through the flat. On come the traps, in skirmishing order, driving in the stragglers as they advance, and supported by mounted troopers in the rear, who occupy commanding positions on the ranges. A great haul is made, and some sixty prisoners are marched off in triumph to the Camp, handcuffed together like a gang of felons, there to be dealt with according to the caprice or cupidity of their oppressors. Irwin, in his letters to the Geelong Advertiser, corroborates Benson’s account of the hunting mode, and gives, under date 23rd October, 1854, the following statement at a meeting in explanation of resolutions adopted in the Roman Catholic Chapel on Bakery Hill, expressive of sympathy with Father Smyth and of indignation against Commissioner Johnstone:— “Some time since Mr. Johnstone was in command of a license-hunting party, one of whom—named Lord—came up to a tent in which was John Gregory, a foreigner on a visit of charity to some other foreigners whose language he knew. The trooper Lord ordered the ‘——— wretches’ to come out of the tent that he might see their licenses. Gregory, the servant of the Rev. W. Smyth, had no such document; on seeing which the trooper damning him and the priest, ordered him to come along. As Gregory was not very strong limbed, he requested to be allowed to go to the camp himself, as he was not able to follow the force while visiting the various diggings, looking for unlicensed miners—so far right; but on Gregory’s appearing unwilling or unable to follow, the trooper ill-used him, and only let him off on Mr. Smyth depositing £5 bail for his appearance. At the police office, after being fined £5 for not having a license, Gregory was going away, but was re-called. On re-appearance, the charge of wanting a license was withdrawn by Mr. Johnstone, and one of insulting a trooper, put instead. For this, he, a cripple, was fined the original bail. In the whole affair the Rev. Mr. Smyth was certainly treated with but little courtesy, and the trumpery story of a cripple assaulting an able-bodied mounted trooper is too ridiculous to warrant serious attention.”
“Englishmen free from crime were at the mercy, in those days, of many demoralising and ruffianly policemen, who treated the diggers like felons, and were too often abetted by their superiors in this treatment of men thus practically deprived of two centuries of political progress. To these causes of irritation were added suspicions of corruption in the administration of the common law on the Ballarat goldfields, and this it was that precipitated the events which ended in the collision between the Queen’s troops and the insurgents. Begun at Bendigo in 1853, the agitation against the goldfields license tax, and for representation in Parliament, was quickly taken up in Ballarat, and was there pushed forward with more eventful incident to a more tragic conclusion. The outbreak was not that of a stupid, solid, ignorant peasantry in arms, against haystacks and threshing machines, but of a free spirited, intelligent people, goaded to resistance by intolerable wrongs, and guided, at all events during a portion of the period, by men of education and character among themselves, aided by a provincial press created and sustained for the most part by men also from among their own ranks. When commissioners, magistrates, and troopers had got used to treat the diggers as people to be taxed and worried at pleasure, the offensive method of carrying out the obnoxious license law had grown so irksome that a reform of the whole system was irresistibly pressed upon the population.”
- ↑ Shepherd, one who takes care of a claim, but does not actually work it.