# Banking Under Difficulties/Chapter 24

CHAPTER XXIV.
The following paragraph appeared in a West Coast paper of July, 1865:—
“We hear that no slight excitement was caused at Rosstown by the stirring commercial news from England, and especially by the report that the Commercial Bank in Dunedin had suspended payment, and that a run had been made upon the Bank of New Zealand. The latter item created a panic, which occasioned quite a rush upon the branch of that bank at Rosstown. The establishment was besieged by depositors, who clamorously demanded cash, but in their hurry forgot to discriminate between the relative value of gold and paper, very readily accepting notes in lieu of gold. So heavy were the demands that the notes of the establishment ran out, and what might have happened no one can tell had not the New South Wales, and Union Banks come to the rescue by sending in a timely supply of their paper. Fortunately this was amply sufficient to meet all demands, and the day closed peaceably. By the next morning the panic had ceased, and in due time the bank again received its own; but we should imagine that the parties interested must have felt quite chapfallen at their ludicrous mistake.”
About the same time, I received intimation from our agent at Okarito that a rush on the Bank of New Zealand had taken place in that township. The regular coasting steamer, the Bruce, was wrecked on the 8th July, and from that time the postal communication with Hokitika was very irregular; in fact the people of Okarito were entirely dependent on private parties travelling for their correspondence, and on one of these gentlemen arriving and bringing with him a copy of one of the Hokitika papers they were made acquainted with part of the first telegram of English news. The newspaper was handed to the editor of the Westland Observer, who, about eleven o’clock on the 23rd, issued an “Extraordinary.” In this, amongst other failures in London, the name of the Oriental Bank appeared, and in the provincial part of the telegram it was reported that in Dunedin there was a heavy run on the Bank of Otago, the Bank of New Zealand, and the Union Bank. Although the “Extraordinary” was freely issued in the ​town of Okarito, there was not the slightest alarm felt by the business community as to the stability of the Bank of New Zealand, and until 2.30 p.m. business went on as usual. About that time a number of miners rushed into the Bank of New Zealand from the Five Mile, and demanded gold for their deposit receipts. The agent was at his wits end to know how to act. Fortunately for him Yates put in an appearance, and learning the cause of the excitement, he told the diggers that he did not believe in the truth of the report; had it been true he would have had some special communication from Hokitika. Several miners asked him if he would take Bank of New Zealand notes; he replied in the affirmative. This fended to allay the excitement. The next mail brought the news of the stoppage of the New Zealand Banking Corporation. The similarity of the name to that of the Bank of New Zealand had caused the panic.
Okarito is situated about fifty miles south of Hokitika, and was at the date above-mentioned a stirring place. The diggings were a few miles south, at a place known as the Five Mile Beach. The claims, strange to say, were on the beach just above high-water mark. The lead extended for fully three miles, and the digging was only a few feet in depth. The top sand was scraped off until a layer of black sand a few inches thick was reached, which was immensely rich. Many a “pile” was made at the rush. A second lead was found some time afterwards a little further back from the beach, and a third still further inland, all running parallel to each other, the gold getting coarser the farther they went from the sea. On this, as well as on many of the other beaches on the Coast, it was quite a usual thing after stormy weather, to find men removing the black sand—which had been thrown up after each tide—to a safe distance above high-water mark, where it was piled up, and washed at leisure.
Many have been the theories to account for the beach deposits of gold on the West Coast. The gold found is so fine and “scaly” that if dried it will actually float in water. One, and to me the likeliest theory, is that it has been washed down by the rivers, and then washed up on the beach by the surf. It favours this theory that the deposits are nowhere found more than three or four miles from the entrance to the various rivers.
This gold being so fine, and the black sand so heavy, renders a very complicated process for extracting the gold necessary, involving the use of quicksilver and copper plates. The latter I have known to be sold at the rate of £1 for 1 lb. of copper.
I was the first bank officer that visited the rush, and although the majority of the miners had large quantities of gold in their possession, my purchases were very small, the price offered not being considered enough, but it afterwards turned out to be a fair one. It was an impossibility to get the dust out of the gold, it being so fine, On my second trip I was nearly coming to ​grief. I was in a boat with three others; had got alongside the s.s. Nelson, which was headed down stream, and just on the point of starting for Hokitika, when the captain, no doubt thinking all passengers were on board, gave the order “full speed ahead.” I was standing up in the boat, and had hold of the sponsons when the wheels revolved, taking the boat from under me. As soon as my legs touched the water—the tide running in at the rate of four knots an hour—I had to let go, and down I went. When I came to the surface I was some distance astern of the steamer. I was perfectly cool and collected, and headed for the shore, which I would no doubt have reached, but had not gone far when the boat came after me, and I was with difficulty dragged into it. My clothes were so heavy that I could scarcely stand up in them. I got on board without delay, had a good stiff nobbler, and changed my clothes. Borrowed a shirt from one, a pair of trousers from another, a cap from somebody else, and was such a guy that when I reached home in the afternoon my best friends did not know me.
The following incident occurred about this time:—Mr. Inspector Broham was conducting some charge which had been preferred by the police against a prisoner, when, requiring a legal work to assist him, he turned round to one of the constables and desired him to go for “Roscoe on Evidence.” The constable not hearing the precise words made use of, took it to mean that a Mr. Roscow was required in court to give evidence. There happening to be only one Roscow in Hokitika, who was the proprietor of the Manchester Hotel, the constable hastened out of court, and making up Hamilton-street with all speed, he soon reached the establishment and inquired for the landlord. “Is it Mr. Roscow you want?” asked the barman. “Yes, certainly,” was the answer, “he is wanted to give evidence at once at the police court; where is he?” “You will find him at the barber’s across the street getting shaved,” said the barman. The policeman ran over, and found Mr. Roscow a little more than half shaved. “You are wanted at once, Mr. Roscow, at the police court; I am sorry I can’t wait till you are finished; you are to come at once.” The jolly host naturally wished to know who wanted him, and what he was wanted for. “Don’t know anything about it,” said the constable; “all I was told was to bring Roscow at once; and you must go without waiting any longer, shaved or unshaved.” In obedience to the stern commands of the law, Mr. Roscow, only shaved in part, and the lather still clinging like a fringe of hoar frost along the edges of his whiskers, accompanied the policeman, and soon reached the court. Upon putting in an appearance Mr. Broham smartly demanded of the constable if he had found Roscoe? “Yes, sir, here he is,” replied the man, producing the landlord of the Manchester Arms. Mr. Broham saw the mistake at once, so did the magistrate; so did all ​assembled in the body of the court; so did the barristers and solicitors; and there was such a laugh laughed as has seldom been heard before within the walls of a magistrate’s court. It was a great mistake, but an excusable one, which many a bright man might have committed.
It is a strange thing, unfortunately too true, that in the early days of the diggings there was more intemperance amongst doctors than any other class. One would naturally imagine that they, above all others, should be aware of the direful effects produced by this habit; and yet it is so: they will advise their patients to abstain from stimulants at the very time they themselves are strongly under the influence of them. I remember rather a ludicrous affair in connection with this subject. In one place on the West Coast of New Zealand there were two doctors,—Dr. D., sober and incompetent; Dr. W., always drunk, but very clever (at least he got the reputation of being so). The magistrate having to send a man to the lunatic asylum, required the certificate of two medical men. There was nothing else to be done, he had to call in Dr. W., who appeared in his usual form. After signing the necessary papers, to do which Dr. W. had to hold on to the table with one hand and wield the pen with the other, he said, addressing the magistrate, “Oh! Mr. B., I’m so much obliged to you.” “For what?” said the magistrate. “For the good advice you gave me two years ago; you advised me not to drink, and I have felt so much better ever since”
Poor old Dr. W., he died in the Brighton hospital a few months after.
How is it that a drunken doctor is usually called clever?
On the 12th June, 1866, four men named Felix Matthieu, John Kempthorne, James Dudley, and James De Pontius left the Deep Creek diggings with the intention of proceeding to Nelson, and from thence to the West Coast. The first-named was a respectable hotelkeeper (whose name is mentioned in Chapter X.), the second a storekeeper, the third also a storekeeper, and the last a digger. That night they camped at the Pelorus Bridge, and after breakfast on the following morning started for Nelson. Several persons met them on the road, and they were last seen a little way on the Nelson side of Franklyn Flat, where all traces of them ceased. The arrival of Matthieu and party had been anxiously awaited by Messrs. Leo and Hartmann, who had preceded the missing men from Deep Creek, and who were staying in Nelson in anticipation of meeting them. Their prolonged absence caused suspicion, a search party was formed, and started on the 18th June. On the 19th a man named Levy, who was identified as having been seen at Matthieu’s Hotel on the 10th June, was arrested on suspicion of having been implicated in some way with the loss of Matthieu’s party, and a short time after three others, viz., Burgess, Kelly, and Sullivan, ​were also taken into custody. The search party first discovered the dead body of a pack-horse shot through the head, together with the swags of the missing men, which had been opened and searched; afterwards a pannikin containing some moistened gunpowder, as if prepared to blacken and disguise men’s faces, and subsequently a double-barrelled gun and other things, but no trace of the missing men. On the 28th, Sullivan availing himself of the offer of His Excellency the Governor of a free pardon to any but the actual murderers, confessed to his complicity in the deed, and gave information which led to the recovery of the bodies of the four men, as well as of a fifth—James Battle—whom they had cruelly murdered on the same day (12th June). The bodies were recovered on the 29th idem, and brought into Nelson the same evening. An inquest was held on the 30th, and a verdict returned that on or about the 13th June, 1866, Felix Matthieu and party were wilfully murdered on the Maungatapu. The funeral took place on 1st July, and was attended by a large number of the leading citizens.
During the short stay of Burgess and party in Nelson they disposed of the greater portion of the gold taken from the murdered men to the different banks. Levy visited the Bank of New South Wales and concocted a plan of murdering all the inmates of the establishment and robbing the bank. The bank was visited by each of the men in succession, and as they all concurred in the feasibility of the scheme, it was agreed that Levy should proceed to Melbourne to procure the necessary disguises, and that the other three should remain in Nelson. The plan of murder and robbery was this:—That when all was ready one of the gang, well-dressed for the occasion, should gain access to the manager in his private room just before closing, while others of the gang should be in the bank on pretence of business, and on the closing of the doors, overpower the officers and murder them in a manner which would give no alarm outside. It was then intended to bury one of the bodies, leaving the others in the bank in order to give the appearance of one having murdered the rest and absconded. Sullivan also gave information which led to the discovery of the body of Mr. G. Dobson, surveyor, who was supposed to have been murdered a few miles from Greymouth in May 1866. Burgess and party were on the look-out for a gold buyer named Fox, who was in the habit of carrying the gold to Greymouth from his store at Maori Gully by a bush track, but who, by some means receiving information that the bushrangers were on the look-out for him, resolved to go down by boat. Dobson happening to go down the track was bailed up by these demons, strangled, and buried. The body was recovered on 5th July, and buried on the 7th. The funeral service was read by the Lord Bishop of Christchurch. I will not dwell longer on this painful subject, but merely state ​that Burgess, Kelly, and Levy were duly tried, convicted, and executed. The execution took place in Nelson on 5th October.
Sullivan after a time received his pardon and took ship to England as first-class cabin passenger, but was recognised by a lady passenger (who happened to have a photo of him) and pointed out to the authorities on reaching England. Finding his movements closely watched, he took the first opportunity of returning to the colonies. On reaching Melbourne he was immediately pounced upon by the police and incarcerated in the Melbourne gaol, where he remained for some months. His liberty was after a time given him, and he made for his old home in Victoria, Wedderburn, but his friends “knew him not”; every man’s hand was against him. After a time he made his way to New South Wales, and, I believe, has since died.