Five Years Under the Southern Cross: Experiences and Impressions

by Frederic C. Spurr

It was in 1851 that the first gold was found in Bendigo; and, like so many other things, it was discovered by accident. A man named Johnston simply stooped and picked up a nugget of gold, the glitter of which attracted him. Then some shepherds saw gold in the roots of a large tuft of grass which had been washed by the waters of the creek. And with that accidental find the fortunes of Bendigo were made. A desolate region, uninhabited, became in an incredibly short space of time a flourishing city. Like lightning the news travelled that gold had been found in Bendigo, and at once there was a rush from all parts of inhabited Australia and from the uttermost ends of the earth. “Claims” were measured off to the new-comers, and the desolate plain became a camp of fever-stricken men, all intent upon securing as much as possible of the yellow metal that was to make their fortunes. Men endured any hardship in order to compass their end. They scarcely lived; theirs was a bare existence. All they cared for was the amassing of gold; and when they were satisfied, or when they had exhausted their “claim,” they went back to the ordinary ways of life—some of them set up for life, others to squander their fortune and to arrive at a last state worse than their first. The Bendigo historian says without exaggeration that gold was dug up almost in bucketfuls. In one morning two young men sank a shallow hole, and extracted from it fifty pounds weight of gold.

The face of the earth was scarred and hacked by pick and shovel until at last it resembled a battlefield, desolate to the last degree. And to-day, on the site of the great struggle at White Hills, there is left a stretch of country filled with sand, and intersected with numerous gullies through which the cleansing water once flowed. And as on battlefields men continually wander in search of relics, so at White Hills the refuse is to-day subjected to a cyaniding process by means of which the last morsel of gold is compelled to yield itself up.

A year later gold was discovered in Ballarat.

Until that year the country as far as Sydney, was a gigantic sheep-walk. Houses were few and far between. The inhabitants of the country around Ballarat could have been counted quite easily by a child had one chanced to light upon them. But in a moment, when the magic word “gold” was pronounced, men sprang, as it were, from the abyss. Hundreds of fragile tents covered the ground; hundreds of tools were busily employed in digging for the enriching ore. A township arose, as by miracle, followed by a city, ever extending its borders, until to-day there is left, as the result of sixty years’ work, one of the most beautiful cities of Australia. “Ballarat the beautiful” they name it, and with justice. It is beautiful. Beautiful for situation! Its altitude is 1,500 feet above sea level. Snow falls in the winter-time when at Melbourne the feathers of the sky never descend. In the summer, when Melbourne is grilling in the heat, Ballarat remains with a temperate atmosphere. In this springtide the great boulevard is a flower-garden entrancing and perfumed. The streets are clean and wide—very wide—and everywhere imposing buildings stand. Temples of prayer, fine piles of commercial houses, schools and colleges, institutes, libraries, hospitals, and, above all, statuary adorn the city. In the mayor’s room of the Town Hall is an old print showing Ballarat in 1852, the year of the gold fever. Not a house was then erected. The countryside is shown dotted with canvas abodes. A decade later, a second print shows a large and flourishing town, laid out after the best models. And the last photograph reveals a modern, busy city, full of life and prosperity. It seems to be a dream, this sudden rise to power. Fifty years leave a city fresh, with the marks of its making still upon it. Ballarat, young in years, has somehow acquired the dignity and solidity of a city twice its age. In the old land I used to imagine these cities to be of the mushroom type—hastily grown, and with the mark of premature decay upon them. They are far from that. Ballarat, type of the gold-made city, is substantial, and it is built to abide. Another illusion cherished in the old days was that cities such as this, having sprung out of filthy lucre, must of necessity possess the mark of vulgarity. Ballarat shatters that illusion, for with all its material prosperity it possesses an air of refinement that cannot be mistaken. A high standard of education is sought. There is a School of Mines, there are fine colleges, there are scientific and literary societies, and there is an Eisteddfod. And this last thing is self-revealing. It means that in some way or other Welsh influence has been at work. And the number of Welshmen in Ballarat is explanatory of the Eisteddfod. With pride, Ballarat people call their city the Athens of Australia. All that is beautiful and artistic is encouraged. Annual competitions are held for the youth of both sexes, and at these there is wholesome rivalry in song, music, dramatic representations, literature, art, on the mental side, while upon the physical side the games are held after the manner of the ancient city which Ballarat would fain copy. To the golden city come, annually, musicians, singers, reciters, and wrestlers from all parts of the Commonwealth. Trophies, prizes, and money are awarded to the winners. The judges are brought from England at enormous fees to adjudicate in the competitions. To quote the words of a municipal enthusiast, who is speaking sober truth, “a prize won at Ballarat is the antipodean equivalent in actual distinction to a trophy won at the Olympian games at Athens, with the difference that in our festival the athlete gives pride of place to the young artist in music and elocution.” From all of which it may justly be inferred that a city built upon gold mines is not necessarily a vulgar and a bloated city, having a population whose one ambition is the worship of the golden calf. It is a happy task to bear this witness.

But the crowning taste of Ballarat is in its statuary. There is no other city in the Southern Hemisphere that can boast of so many beautiful carved figures as Ballarat. The main street of the city is adorned with statues, amongst which is one of Moore and another of Burns. The most imposing of all is the statue of Queen Victoria crowned as Queen and Empress. Burns and Moore, Scotsman and Irishman, are not to monopolise the honours of the poets. Place is to be made for a statue of Shakespeare. Then happiness will reign, unless the Welshmen demand a place. But they have the living Eisteddfod. In the Botanical Gardens there are a number of figures, the most beautiful of which is the group by Benzoni, “The Flight from Pompeii.” It is a wonderful conception. Life-like are the mother, the father and the child, seeking escape from the terrible rain of dust which falls upon them. The husband shields the mother with a mantle, while she, in turn, protects the face of her infant from the pitiless fire flakes which threaten her little one. It is a group of which any city in the world might be proud.

Ballarat is thus the destruction of an illusion—the contradiction of the doctrine that a golden city must be vulgar and self-assertive. The people respect all who in any way contribute to the good of the community. I went up to lecture there, and lo! before I was aware of what had happened, I found myself “received” by the mayor, the town clerk, some of the councillors, and most of the clergy. It was embarrassing—and they honoured their visitor simply because it is their way to show respect to any man who, in their judgment, has a word of helpfulness to speak to the community. And that function over, behold, at the door of the Town Hall was a motor-car in which I was whisked round to be shown the sights. And all that for a Free Church minister who had come to lecture to one congregation!

In the matter of appreciative open-mindedness Australia has much to teach the mother country. Her sons listen heartily to any man who brings a living message to them, independently of his creed or his political opinions. A land without a State Church does lend itself to liberty.

This, then, is the golden city of to-day. But the making of the city is a veritable romance. All Ballarat knows its history, yet there is but one solitary man alive who has seen it all from the beginning. The sole survivor of the pioneers of 1851 is Mr. James Oddie. Each year, on September 1, it has been the custom of the survivors to have a banquet in commemoration of the discovery of gold in Ballarat. As the years have advanced the number of attendants at the banquet have declined, until on September 1, 1910, Mr. Oddie alone remained. But he had the banquet just the same. It was a one-man affair. In a room at the hotel dinner was served in great state for one. The guest and host in one was very cheerful. Not a soul save himself touched the meal. Waiters thoughtfully and longingly looked on while the veteran ate. Afterwards he gave a speech to the Pressmen intended for the world beyond, and in that he recalled the story of the founding of Ballarat. Melancholy meal! Mr. Oddie, it goes without saying, is an old man, and it cannot be long before the annual banquet will end for ever.

The story of the golden city is one of the romances of the world. A deserted vale, flanked by beautiful hills, was in a day converted into a camp of fever-stricken people—“yellow fever,” as it is sarcastically styled. From all parts of Australia, from New Zealand, from Tasmania, and from Europe thousands of adventurous spirits found their way to Ballarat. The first comers marked out their “claims,” and forthwith entered into them to dig up the precious metal. Thirty ounces of gold per day was the capture of that earliest party. Like the lepers of Samaria, these fortunate men desired to keep to themselves the news of the great find. But the inevitable newspaper man came on the spot, and within a few hours a Geelong newspaper had given the secret to the whole world, much to the chagrin of certain of the explorers, who foresaw a distribution amongst many of a treasure they would fain keep for themselves. In less than a fortnight after the news had been made public “three men were left in Geelong and half Melbourne was on the gold-field.” Within three weeks guns were brought up by a small band of soldiers, and the scramble for gold was converted into commercial “prospecting” on licence issued by the Commissioners. The Church followed the Commissioners, and in a month’s time a Methodist church was erected. For walls there were the trunks of trees, for roof a piece of tarpaulin.

The springtide was in full beauty; the weather was settled, hence the primitive church was sufficient for the needs of the people. Great nuggets of gold were unearthed, some of them weighing 134 and 126 ounces. Fortunes were made in a day. Curious stories are told of the effect of digging. The Wesleyan church sank bodily into the ground as the result of undermining. The court house also suffered wreckage. It was a mad rush by men unpractised in mining, hence accidents and submergences were frequent. The amount of gold found in Ballarat in fifty years was 19,375,000 ounces. The surface gold has been worked out long ago, and now deep shafts are sunk, at the bottom of which men work while water is sprayed upon them. It is said that fabulous wealth still remains to be discovered in Ballarat, which for long enough will retain the title of the Golden City. The one and only battle Australia has ever known between white men was fought at Ballarat in connection with the gold-finding. The raising of the price of the gold-tax incensed some of the diggers, who became riotous, and the Government sent up from Melbourne detachments of two British regiments. On Sunday morning, December 3, 1854, soldiers and diggers fought. Life was lost on both sides, the diggers suffering more heavily than the soldiers. On the outskirts of Ballarat a monument is erected to the memory of the fighters. Blood and gold: they have always gone together, and although little blood was shed at Ballarat, there was enough of it to keep unbroken the tradition that the lust of gold means the loss of something human. Many a man made a rapid fortune in the early days of Ballarat. Those halcyon times have passed away. Never again can the old conditions and the old fever be repeated.