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| " Digger's " Hut ,Sovereign Hill Ballarat - typical of 1800s goldrush era - photo 2012 courtesy Chris Ball |
Goldfields of Australia
By the early 1850's
the gold rush had come to Australia
with Edward Hargraves' April 1851
discovery of gold near Bathurst, New South Wales led to a rush in May . This gold discovery evoked poetry which appeared in the Bathurst Free Press and Mining Journal a couple of
years later.
Original Poetry.
THE GOLDEN CROWN.
WRITTEN
IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE GOLD DISCOVERY IN MAY, 1851.
Yes, Bathurst from
the rank of peers, as all the world must own,
Hath sprung abreast
of royalty and gained a golden crown;
And all through Hargraves' happy hit, the
luckiest traveller known,
Who set us all a
digging, dig, dig, digging,
Who set us all a digging in creek, ravine, and
glen.
Beyond the wild Blue
Mountains were kingdoms to be sold,
There's wealth
enough to pay their price in pure Australian gold,
And surely in a
happy hour the wond'rous tale was told,
That set us all a digging, dig, dig, digging,
That set us all a
digging in creek, ravine, and glen.
Great nature's
mighty fallow field a world reaped by the wind,
Though meant for all
was handed o'er and to the few assigned,
When forth from
heaven there came a voice, go seek and ye shall find,
So now they're all a
digging, dig, dig, digging,
So now they're all a
digging in creek, ravine, and glen.
The blacksmith squeezed his bellows into one
dying roar,
And struck his anvil
such a blow that it rang a mile or more,
Then dashed his
pond'rous hammer down, and if an oath he swore,
'Twas by Jove I'll
go a digging, dig, dig, digging,
'Twas by Jove I'll
go a digging in creek, ravine, and glen.
The cooper said for tub or keg what recks it
who may ask,
I'll dance no not
another round to the music of a cask,
The hand that well
can drive a hoop may fortune's face unmask,
Where their way to
wealth they're digging, dig, dig, digging,
Where their way to
wealth they're digging, in creek, ravine and glen.
Australian quartz
o'er human hearts how powerful is thy spell,
The deafest ear that
sounds can hear—the music of thy shell,
And distant climes
will list the chimes and hail the golden' bell,
That rings from all
our diggings, dig, dig, diggings,
That rings from all
our diggings in creek, ravine, and glen.
Let Europe boast her
battle fields, thank heaven we've none to show,
Our land was found
to dry the tear that others caused to flow,
When such the fact
who would not cry let's to Australia
go,
Where gold is got
for digging, dig, dig, digging,
Where gold is got
for digging in creek, ravine and glen.
Then dig away my
merry men, they'll soon be on the sea,
Who'll lend a hand
to make our land admir'd renown'd and free,
Australia's
greatness yet will spring, for such is heaven's decree,
From mud and manly
digging, dig, dig, digging,
From mud and manly
digging in creek, ravine, and glen.
Bathurst Free Press and Mining Journal Sat 9 Apr
1853 Page 3
Courtesy Trove, National Library Australia
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Bathurst, N.S.W. - The neighbourhood of the first gold
discovery in Australia.
Melbourne : Robert Stewart 1865 Wood engraving
published in The illustrated Melbourne post.
November 25, 1865
Courtesy State Library Victoria, Australia
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Soon after John Dunlop and James Regan discovered gold at Ballarat 8th September, 1851, Thomas Hiscock at Buninyong and Henry Frenchman at Bendigo Creek. This saw the Australian gold rush in full force by the end of 1851.
Seems tales of
" diggers" gold rushes and goldfields evoked many poems over the
years in Australia's newspapers along with songs. It was not the era of TV and
Internet that we have today so songs, poetry and tales were written and passed
on down through families. In later years,
Leslie Frank Harper ( brother of my great grandmother ) apart from being
a Geologist for the Mines Department NSW, drew maps of those early gold
diggings. He also helped preserve the history and culture of the NSW Goldfields ( Hill End and Tambaroora Gathering Group)
The Argus, a Melbourne newspaper, in 1852 carried the following poem which gives a good account of what
daily living was actually like on the goldfields.
Original Poetry
SKETCHES FROM THE DIGGINGS.
My dear C******, if
it will amuse If not instruct you, while you may peruse
These few rough
sketches (written 'mong the Ranges)
Of a Gold digger's
life, his shifts and changes,
Accept them--they
may pass an hour away
When sitting by the
fire some rainy day.
Strange is the scene
that breaks upon the view,
The scattered stores
whose flags of varied hue
Wave in the breeze;
the clustered tents around;
The strange
appearance of the upturned ground;
The crowds of men,
all bustling to and fro,
A human tide, a
constant ebb and flow--
Some in their dishes
bear the auriferous earth,
Some at the cradles
work, and shouts of mirth
From side to side
resound. But further on
A crowd collects,
the mirthful laugh is gone;
'Tis now the voice
of war--in hot dispute
Each tries to shew
himself the greater brute,
Oath follows oath,
from words they come to blows,
And fists come in
the argument to close,
Till one has proved
himself the stronger man
And then they end as
wise as they began.
Sunset winds up the
labours of the day,
And homeward to his
tent each wends his way,
Then supper over,
some in song delight,
Some on the flute
wake echoes of the night;
A distant gun comes
booming on the ear,
The hint is caught,
and presently you hear
A scattered firing,
rattling all about
From guns and
pistols, followed by a shout;
Some with their
Colt's revolvers in possession
Discharge a score of
shots in quick succession:
Now fires are
blazing bright, and dogs are barking,
And men are
fiddling, singing, drumming, larking,
Some in their tents
stiff arguments are holding,
And some by way of
change are busy scolding!
Some at the fire
enjoying the dudheen,
Some weighing out
their gold all washed and clean
To see how much a
good day's work has been;
At last the songs
are o'er, the smoking ended,
The arguments and
yarns are all expended.
Lights are put out,
and all turned in to bed
Till the next sun
his early beams shall shed
Oe'r hill and vale.
The morn begins to
dawn,
We wake, and stretch
our limbs, and lazy yawn;
The fire is lit, up,
up, we all must rise,
The wintry sun
begins to illume the skies,
On goes the kettle,
on, the frying pan
With savoury chops
to feast our inner man.
And give us strength
to work and heart to stand
The cold and wet
from winter's chilly hand--
Breakfast is quick
discussed and off we start
Shouldering our
tools with hope to cheer our heart,
Perchance some new
found gully we must try
And thither hundreds
rush with hue and cry,
Hurrying with steps
and anxious face,
Each vieing with
another in the race
To be in time to
make his working space;
Onward they come,
ourselves among the rest,
And each selects the
ground he fancies best.
But crowds still
come, and more and more behind,
And soon from end to
end the place is lined
With diggers all at
work: some marking out
The ground they
claim, anon there comes a shout,
A nugget found!--(or
else pretended so)
Some rush to see
whether 'tis true or no,
But some there are
who having marked their ground
Proceed no further
until some around
Have sunk their
holes and tried the earth below,
So that these wary
diggers thus may know
Whether the gold is
there; unwilling they
On a mere chance to
throw their time away.
And oft a place to
which the rush was great,
Whither each hurried
with his heart elate,
With golden hopes,
ere many days are o'er
Is left as silent as
it was before.
The false report
brought numbers there at first;
No gold is
found--the bubble soon has burst,
The swarm has all
dispersed to try again
Some other place,
perhaps alike in vain:
But when the
glittering dust regales the eye,
To work, to work, is
then the engrossing cry;
With pick and shovel
eagerly they strive
In anxious haste
their profit to derive;
Soon heaps on heaps of yellow earth arise
From holes of every
shape, and every size,
All the incumbent
earth is cast away
Till they have
reached the stratum of tough clay
With quartzose
pebbles mixed, the gold is there,
And this the digger
gathers up with care,
Bears it in bags or
dishes to his tent
To wash it when he
finds convenient.
'Tis winter now, and
clouds with threatening frown,
On earth expectant,
pour their torrents down,
The thirsty ground
receives the welcome rain
In store, whence
Nature may revive again,
And deck anew the
wilds with herb and flower
And fill with
fragrance every leafy bower
When spring returns.
The digger with a sigh
Views the relentless
torrent sweeping by,
Clearing its way
with a resistless force,
And filling every
hole upon its course;
Trees undermined
before to reach the gold
No longer by their
roots retaining hold,
And by the torrent
sapp'd, are prostrate laid,
And add their wrecks
to the sad ruin made
By ruthless
storm--oh! dire calamity,
Disheartening prospect, thus his work to see
Crushed into dire
confusion, all undone;
Here several holes
are jumbled into one.
Here, too, the ruin
is with mischief rife,
These holes will be
the cause of future strife,
All landmarks gone,
some will lay claim to more
Than is their right,
or than they had before;
Then comes the
contest, then may savage might
For a short time
prevail o'er gentler right,
Or likelier matched,
the brute against the brute,
The toughest skin
may gain the coarse dispute,
Or, as occurred but
lately near this place,
The gun and pistol
may decide the case,
Depriving
fellow-creatures of their life
When gentler means
might settle all the strife.
The storm is o'er,
the sky again serene,
Again the digger
with determined mien
Empties his hole,
and sets to work once more
Deep under ground to
seek the golden store
With undiminished
vigour; undismayed
By the sad havoc
which the rain has made!
And often on his
labour too intent
Even to make the
danger imminent,
That o'er him hangs,
or careless till too late,
His is, alas!
sometimes an awful fate;
For when the rain
some secret course has found
Through open shingle
underneath the ground,
Stealing in silence
on its treacherous way,
No signs its
dangerous presence yet betray,
Till, in a moment,
crashes on his head
The ponderous roof,
and leaves him with the dead!
No time for thought,
alas! no time for prayer,
No time to ask the
Almighty hand to spare,
And let us hope his
sins have been forgiven,
And his freed soul
has winged its flight to heaven.
Some holes deserted
when the unwelcome rain
Had filled them to
the brim, become a gain
To other diggers who
have holes close by,
And gladly seize the
opportunity
To wash their stuff
which they had kept in store
Till the rain came.
Now tubs are carried o'er
In which to steep
the stuff, so that the clay,
By water oft
renewed, is washed away,
And nought remains
but shingle, gold and sand,
Which then are
placed in cradles close at hand,
And rocked by
one--another pouring on
A stream of water,
till the gold alone
Remains behind, thus
simply do we free
The gold from the
rough impurity.
Then, taken home,
'tis washed with greater care,
Then weighed and
each receives his well-earned share.
But now the month is
drawing to a close,
And now appears the
unlicensed digger's foes,
The constables. How
lucky men are they,
Who eat, and sleep,
and have so much per day,
Keeping a guard on
the Commissioner's tent,
Save when their
valuable time is spent
Hunting among the
holes to aid their funds
By capturing
unlicensed vagabonds!
But if we're injured
by the licensed thief
Long must we search
ere we obtain relief--
Ah! little need
their presence here be vaunted,
They're never to be
seen when they are wanted;
Bush life is
pleasant, ease is ever sweet,
And so they choose a
quiet, calm retreat
In some green vale,
and in a situation
Remote from scene of
active operation.
Not theirs the
merit, not to them is due
The praise, that
acts of violence are few;
We, as a class, are
peaceful labourers,
No thanks for such
protection as is theirs:
Where is the gully
here that is without
Its various grog
tents, and their rabble rout,
While close beside
them ever is the tent
Of gamblers, always
their accompaniment;
No diggers these--no
toilers for their bread--
They live by
villainy, by crime are fed--
Root out these
plague-spots, clear the ground of these,
Then to your tents
again to take your ease,
Nor then be greeted
with the cry of shame;
Not hear contempt
connected with your name. A.R.
The Argus Wed 15 Sep 1852 Page 6 courtesy
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Gill, S. T & Melbourne
Public Library 1869, Diggers on way to Bendigo
courtesy Trove National Library Australia
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Along with the gold
rush by " diggers" came others, who not making their fortune in gold
digging, found other pursuits. One such was Charles Tunks, grandson of William
Tunks, First Fleet Marine and my GG Grandfather. He worked in his lifetime putting
down telegraph poles; saw gold nuggets in the holes dug for the poles; went
"digging" later but never found an " El Dorado."
Another such, was Charles Thatcher, a song writer who
also became a well known entertainer on
both the Australian and New Zealand
Goldfields, his last tour said to include IN 1869 , the newly opened
Thames Goldfields. It is said he gained the title of the " Colonial Minstrel" Popular
with the miners in those early mining communities. They evidently related well
to songs such as the one below that Charles Thatcher is said to have written in
1855.
Where's Your License?
The morning was
fine,
The sun bright did
shine
The diggers were
working away
When th' inspector
of traps
Said now my fine
chaps
We'll go license
hunting today
Some went this way,
some that
Some to Bendigo Flat
And a lot to the
White Hills did tramp
Whilst others did
bear
Up towards Golden
Square
And the rest of them
kept round the camp.
Then each turned his
eye
To the diggings
close by
Expecting on some
down to drop
But not one could
they nail
For they'd give 'em
leg bail
Diggers aren't often
caught on the hop
The little word Joe
That most of you
know
Is a signal the
traps are quite near
Made them all cut
their sticks
And they hooked it
like bricks
I believe you, my
boys, have no fear.
Now a tall, ugly trap
He espied a young chap
Up the gully a-cutting like fun
Now a tall, ugly trap
He espied a young chap
Up the gully a-cutting like fun
So he quickly gave
chase,
But it was a hard
race,
For mind you, the
digger could run
Down the hole he did
pop
While the trooper up
top
Says - "just
come up", shaking his staff
"Young man of
the crown.
If yer wants me,
come down,
For I'm not to be
caught with such chaff.
Of course you'd have
thought
The sly fox he'd
have caught
By lugging him out
of the hole;
But this trooper no
fear
Quite scorned the
idea,
Of burrowing the
earth like a mole;
But wiser by half
He put by his staff
And as onward he
went sung he-
"When a cove's
down a drive,
Whether dead or
alive,
He may stay till
doomsday for me."
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| Withers, Wiliam Bramwell. 1870. The History of Ballarat, from the First Pastoral Settlement to the Present Time. Accessed August 29, 2017. Gutenburg Books Project Australia |
Henry Lawson AKA
Larsen a prolific Australian writer and poet also wrote poems
About the gold
mining days. His own father, Peter, had jumped ship in Melbourne , changed his name
from Larsen to Lawson and
joined the gold rush in 1855.
The Roaring Days
The night too
quickly passes
And we are growing
old,
So let us fill our
glasses
And toast the Days
of Gold;
When finds of
wondrous treasure
Set all the South
ablaze,
And you and I were
faithful mates
All through the
roaring days!............
In 1870 it was a new rush with the discovery of gold
in the Acheron River, 114 km North of
Melbourne, Victoria.
New Rush
( 1870)
Away to the Acheron, let us away,
Hang't if I dont start off this very day.
Roll up your swag mate and let us make haste;
Our chances are less every minute we waste.
They say there is gold there, I trust it is true
I hope gold is waiting for me and for you.
Now let us be off without further delay.
Hurrah for the acheron diggings, Hurrah !
It's long since I bottomed a good golden hole;
I'm anxious to get one, I am, on my soul.
It's sixty foot sinking, no matter for that,
It cannot be worse than this d--d U.T. Flat.
Good-bye old U. T. and good-bye Godfreys Creek.
Just look, and you'll see the tears run up my cheek.
Oh ! I am so sorry, I almost could sing
"Ring the bell watchman, ring ! ring ! ring
!"
JACK.
In Alexandra Times Fri 18 Mar 1870 Page 3 THE NEW
RUSH.
courtesy Trove National Library Australia
Up in the North in Queensland Australia small amounts
of gold were found on the Darling Downs in the 1850's with the first gold rush
in 1858 at Canoona near Rockhampton, Queensland. Charters Towers Queensland was to see gold
mining between 1872 and 1899, With the discovery of gold by accident late in
1871 by Jupiter Mosman. Typical of gold rushes went banks also.
By 1890 the Queensland National Bank had 14 branches on the Queensland mining
fields. My great grandfather James
Stewart was a sub - inspector with the Queensland National Bank 1884 -
1890 when he died. Based in Toowoomba where he lived above the Toowoomba Branch
of the bank, Stewart travelled to other branches and was involved with banking
and typical of those involved at that level of position , gold movements.
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| Queensland National Bank about 1887 when just newly built - photo courtesy of Toowoomba Local History Library, Toowoomba 2010 |
Many settlers moved from Australia to New Zealand during the gold rushes of the 1860's. As the New Zealand gold rushes slowed a number left and some stayed.
For songs from the Goldfields of California:
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For songs from the
Goldfields of New Zealand: -
FOOTNOTES: Charles Tunks was grandson of First Fleeter marine aboard HM Sirius and my GG Grandfather. Leslie Frank Harper was brother of my great grandmother Charlotte Emily Tunks ( nee Harper). Their father Richard Harper was born in Parramatta, NSW, Australia. James Stewart, sub Inspector with the Queensland National Bank came originally to Wellington New Zealand aboard the Ben Venue ,being with the National Bank and NZ Colonial Bank. Twelve passengers, a load of rails saw a shaken entry to a stormy port in 1878. This James Stewart, whose family were originally from Glasgow, Larnarkshire was my other great grandfather.
Reference:
- General., Queensland Agent. 1875. Hand-book for emigrants to Queensland, Australia. London: Sir Joseph Causton and Sons.
- Mossman, Samuel and Bannister, Thomas. 1853. Australia Visited and Revisited A Narrative of Recent Travels and Old Experiences in Victoria and New South Wales. Accessed August 28, 2017. http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks16/1600061h.html.
- Withers, Wiliam Bramwell. 1870. The History of Ballarat, from the First Pastoral Settlement to the Present Time. Accessed August 29, 2017. http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks13/1304971h.html#Image14
- Biography Henry Lawson -writer and poet Australian Dictionary Biography
- Biography Charles Thatcher - Entertainer and songwriter Australian Dictionary Biography
- Trove National Library Australia
- NATIONAL BANK ARCHIVES - BRISBANE. QUEENSLAND NATIONAL BANK, BOARD PAPERS
