# Banking Under Difficulties/Chapter 8

CHAPTER VIII.
Diseases on the Diggings—The Castlemaine Hospital— Early Days of Castlemaine—Join a Bank.
In the early days of the goldfields, dysentery and ophthalmia were the only forms of disease; the one arising from want of food, for mutton was almost quivering when placed in the frying pan, the damper too crude for the stomach of the new chum, and the lodgings on the “cold ground” too much for many. Again, the glare of light through the single calico tent was too much for the eyes of many. Medical men then came in contact with many a case in which they could afford but little benefit, and it was soon seen that unless some shelter could be afforded the helpless digger, death must be the natural consequence. There was no lack of money, for the doctor was hardly inside the tent-door before the fee was tendered, but a golden aid could not cure dysentery. The subject of an hospital had engaged the attention of several of the benevolent, but at that time it seemed a formidable undertaking. One day my attention was directed to a small tent, which stood immediately in front of where the Bank of New South Wales now stands. On looking in at the door I saw what at first sight seemed to be a log of wood. On closer inspection I found that it was two sheets of bark tightly tied round some object, and that it was the body of some fine fellow who had died during the night. His mates too had been ill, they had had bad luck and could only afford to bind their companion in two sheets of bark. I observed two small bits of wood tied so as to form a rude cross, and this was fixed over the left breast of deceased. He lay alone, for his mates had gone to seek some minister to commit his remains to their resting place. This incident gave an occasion for a few gentlemen to meet and consider the hospital question, and the first committee was formed at a meeting held at the Rev. Mr. Low’s tent on the camp reserve. Good Friday was the day fixed on to go round and receive subscriptions. A considerable sum was obtained without much difficulty; application was made to Government for a site, which was soon granted. The resident warden (Captain Bull) accompanied the committee, and the present site of the hospital was decided upon. The Government gave a grant-in-aid, a surgeon was obtained, and provision made for about thirty patients in a small wooden building erected at a cost of £700. The ward was opened by a tea meeting and ball. H. M‘Millan was the builder, who, with the assistance of his ​wife, decorated the room, and the affair went off in first-class style. The tea pleased some, the ball others, and all seemed to enjoy the fun. That building is gone, so are the builder and the decorator. Now a large and substantial structure is erected on the old site. Doctors then were difficult to obtain, none for love and few for money. Now they are in abundance, striving to help in the glorious work of serving suffering humanity. The diggers have not done much to help on such a valuable institution, but, thanks to our Government, there has been no lack; many a fine fellow, far from his father’s home, has had his last pillow soothed by the hands of a stranger, and the mortal remains of many an unknown one have been decently laid in the digger’s grave.
The following extract I found in one of my old diaries, but by whom it was written I cannot say:—
“Looking back to the early days when cats were quoted at £2 2s., and boxes of lucifer matches were considered almost a legal currency, I see much to interest and amuse in the old reminiscences. The old town—one Greenwich-fair erection throughout—save some pretentious slabsided buildings—and scarce they were in those days—every restaurant with its flag, and every store with its quiet back-room for illicit drams, which were taken stealthily, and gulped down for fear of the ‘traps.’ Soon the liberal professions began to flourish. A gentleman learned in the law started an office about six feet by four in ornamental calico; doctors rolled up from unimaginable places; an apothecaries’ hall sprung into existence—built upon homeopathic principles as far as size was concerned. The camp then held itself aloof from the common traffickers of the town and the diggers. Now, as the French say, ‘we have changed all that.’ We must say, however, that the gallant commissioners and their various aides were not insensible to the pleasantry of an evening with a ‘little music,’ and in a certain calico erection, where a piano might generally be heard by night, should a commissioner or camp official have been required on an emergency, one or more might be always found; little blame to them, for there was no other amusement, except an evening with Hitchcock at his auction rooms, or with a still more amusing Hibernian knight of the hammer, whose name I forget, but whose humorous method of doing his business is fresh in my memory. Certainly we had our bagatelle table (of course in a shanty dignified by the name of restaurant), where you could be ‘hocussed,’ robbed, and half killed without much stir being made about it; or if the unfortunate wight who had fallen among thieves went to complain, he would in all probability be asked for his ‘license,’ and in default of its production his already bruised spirit would be broken by being put in the ‘logs’ for a few days.
“The sight of the old post-office reminds me of many an afternoon struggle, and sometimes even a fight to get to the narrow ​window where ‘letters from home’ were delivered; the mail service was not then a regular one, and consequently everyone was always expecting letters, and hence the rush on a Saturday afternoon.
“The old tree which occupied a prominent position somewhere near what is now the corner of Forest and Barker streets, on which, before the local newspaper period, all sorts of notices were posted, as:—‘If the drayman who brought up a carpet bag and blanket on Thursday will bring them to Adams’ restaurant he will be rewarded.’ ‘Should this meet the eye of William Stiggins, he will find his old friend Splodgers at the fourth tent on the left hand side of New Chum Gully.’ Or—‘Wanted to sell, a lot of tools and watch-dog—Apply back of Toodle’s store.’ Much pleasant information might be gathered from this tree, and I have spent some little time in reading this stationary advertising-sheet.
“Then came the stormy days of pulling down tents, and of seizure of property in most arbitrary style, and brutalities which culminated throughout the goldfields, till the fatal affair of the Eureka at Ballarat brought matters to such a pass that the paternal Government of the day at last took measures to stay the gold-lace tyranny which had been riding rough-shod over the producing industry of the goldfields for some time.
“Castlemaine was celebrated at that time for its temperance in conducting the demonstration or indignation meetings of the time; I recollect one on Agitation Hill, now, by-the-bye, the locale of the Church of England, where a difference arose, and somebody, either the Revs. Jackson, Hitchcock, or Aberdeen, it does not matter much which, were laid by the heels in consequence. The criminal sessions were a curious sight in those days. In place of the triumphal entry of the judge into an English county town, the whole force of commissioners, troopers, and such civilians as could command a horse, used to meet his honor at Sawpit Gully—now Elphinstone. As the old ford of the creek through which the cortége had to pass was anything but pleasant, the splashed and bemired appearance of the judicial functionaries and their amateur escort can be better imagined than described. The scene was, as old Pepys would have said, ‘right pleasant to behold.’ As a general rule there was a proportion unseated at this point; however, the rest managed to scramble up the opposite bank, and with much clanking of accoutrements, jingling of spurs, and not a few ‘strange oaths,’ his honor would be handed over to the commissioner or some official of the camp, who would make him up a shake-down for the time he stopped.
“Sticking-up in the immediate vicinity of the town was common, and persons during their marketings hurried out of town before dark, so as to avoid the possibility of being waylaid and ​eased of their loose cash. Some idea of the prices of things may be gathered from the following fact:—A digger went into a store— Sargood’s, I think—and while making his other purchases, saw an empty packing case, so, being of a mechanical turn of mind, he thought he could make it into a cradle; on asking the price the storekeeper replied ‘he might have it for nothing if he would pay the carriage of it up.’ This offer was eagerly accepted, and the case was put into a scale, but on looking at the cartage receipt, the weight at £100 per ton made the cost £4! Of course, he quickly ‘declared off’ his bargain.
“By-and-bye the sound of the saw and hammer was heard to the right of the old township, and soon a few buildings began to show in skeleton, and the Crescent became deserted, leaving nothing but a few weather-beaten old ruins to denote where a thriving trade had been for some two or three years carried on. Driven forth by the police ukase, the evicted settled down on the other side of the sheriff's bridge, and a canvas town of some magnitude sprang up on what is now Grave-street. This, however, never stood in comparison with the old township; almost all the substantial stores were moved into Castlemaine, which soon assumed the appearance of a thriving town; the Market Square was cleared of trees; some publichouses were licensed and opened; a local newspaper was started; industries of all sorts were developed, and it now might be said to have commenced its existence as a town. How it has improved in appearance and in reality! how every institution which can elevate the masses and aid the glorious work of social progress has been fostered and cultivated! Let those who trod the ground now occupied by Castlemaine in the dark days of 1852 mount one of the hills which command the town and look around them, and it is strange to me if they do not, on the comparison, wonder at the energy and enterprise that have in a few years converted the then waste land into the now pleasant little town before them.”
On Christmas week, 1854, I decided to take a week’s spell. For want of anything better to do, I put down a hole close to our own tent, in the allotment on which Newman’s store now stands. I sank to a depth of 6 ft., took a piece of clay from the bottom, stuck a few specks of gold in it for a joke, and took it into the tent to show my mother and sisters. While doing so one of my brothers, who was standing by, ran off to the hole. He had not been there ten minutes when he brought out some rich washdirt. We there and then pegged out a claim. Although there were at least twenty holes put down all round us, we secured all the gold, about 30 ozs., in three weeks. When working on the old ground at Preshaw’s Flat some months after, I made a valuable discovery. When I was being lowered down a hole, I discovered, about 4 ft. from the main bottom, about 6 in. of black sand, full of gold, and more like the black sand found on ​the beaches of the west coast of New Zealand (to which I shall refer by-and-bye) than anything I have seen. The finding of this deposit induced us and several others to virtually re-work our claims, and from several very good results were obtained.
My mates and I lived in a tent adjoining the one occupied by my father. We took turns week-about to cook. The one whose turn it was would rise about half-an-hour before the others, light the fire and prepare breakfast; breakfast over, all hands would go to work. Half-an-hour before dinner-time the cook would go home to light the fire and cook the chops or steaks. We made our own bread, which we baked in a camp oven. Sunday was the only day we had a really good meal; then we would have roast beef and plum pudding. After the day’s work the cook prepared tea, after which we would read, yarn, or visit some of our neighbours. I had two years of this life, and a jolly one I found it; free and independent, your own master, work when you liked and knock off when you liked. But a change has come o’er the spirit of the dream; digging now-a-days is hard work. I know many men at this present moment who are working hard from Monday morning till Saturday night, and scarcely getting enough to keep body and soul together. There were lots of gentlemen diggers in the “good old days”; in fact it was hard for those in business to get a man at any price, for no sooner did people land in Melbourne than they were off to the diggings.
In concluding the portion of this work relating to Victoria, it may be proper to state that the writer, having completed his probation at the diggings, cast about for some occupation more congenial to his tastes, when he had the good fortune to get employment in the Bank of New South Wales, and although most of his experiences have been connected with New South Wales and New Zealand, yet there are a few reminiscences of the days when he was a junior in Castlemaine that may prove interesting:—
One day two men came in and asked what price we were giving for gold. I told them. “What will you give for a lump like this?” said one of them, at the same time throwing his coat down on the counter, in which he had a nugget, in shape something like a leg of mutton, weighing 600 ozs. (50 lbs. weight). They were not satisfied with the price offered, so deposited it in the treasury for transmission to Melbourne, where it was exhibited for a time and eventually sold. In course of conversation the men told me the nugget was discovered by them at Fryer’s Creek that morning. There were four of them in the party, and very hard up. They were working in old ground and fossicking in a pillar, when one of them saw a speck of gold; he tried to pick it out with his finger and thumb, but could not manage it, so he tried it with his fossicking ​knife. Failing to get it out with that, he got a pick and unearthed the monster.
On one occasion a man presented for payment a demand deposit receipt for £45. I asked him how he would take it. “In £5 notes,” he replied. Nine £5 notes were counted out and handed to him. Noticing him lounging about, I said, “You found the notes all right, didn’t you?” “Oh, yes!” he replied, at the same time pushing them across the counter, saying, “I want to deposit them again.” “But you have this moment drawn them out,” said I. “Yes!’ he replied, “I only drew the money to see it was all right.”
On another occasion a man deposited a sum of money at call, “Can I draw the money at any time?” he asked. “At any time!” I replied. After thinking awhile he said, “Suppose I come some fine moonlight night?” That was enough for me. I could not keep my gravity, so got one of the officers to explain that, by saying he could get his money at any time, we meant any time during the ordinary business hours.