- Sydney Past & Present - - The City Of Sydney -- The Stories Of Its Growth -
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Chapter XIV.
Sydney In The Fifties.
Is June, 1849, the ship Hashemy arrived in Sydney with 212 convicts, and immediately the capital was thrown into a state of the greatest excitement, it being looked upon as an attempt of Earl Grey’s to revive transportation. “Public meetings were held in the open air,” says one writer, “close to the gates of the present Government House, and on the very site of the old Government House where Governor Macquarie, whose policy it was to create an upper class from among a population nearly exclusively convict, entertained at his table guests from this order. Under the splendid old Scotch firs planted by Captain Phillip, the first importer of convicts to these shores—on the very spot where the first convict camp was pitched—their descendents, their compeers, and a few of the free class who had grown rich upon the system, now assembled to launch and listen to anathemas against it.”
Contemporary newspapers of even date, i.e., June 18, 1849, however, without fixing the spot so exactly as does our author, are content with simply saying that the meeting took place at Circular Quay. There were at this particular one some 7000 people present, with Mr. R. Campbell in the chair. The purpose of the meeting was not only to petition the Queen that Earl Grey should be removed from the head of the Colonial Department, but also to ask that responsible government should be granted to the colony; also to pass a vote of censure on the Governor himself.
Let us see how vice-royalty in those days could receive, if it so pleased, a deputation of the lieges. Mr. Aaron said that the committee did not charge the Governor with actual discourtesy, “but it was of the cold repulsive chilling feeling with which he had received them, that he had acted discourteously,” they complained—two statements that, although somewhat at variance, seem to imply that Sir Charles Fitzroy was rude. The speaker, continuing, said, “He (the Governor) had first affronted the deputation by refusing to see the whole of them, and he had afterwards kept up the affront by the increasing chilliness of his manner and the deeper sinking of his brows, as he gradually retreated from them, although he stood strongly entrenched behind a table, where he had stationed himself to receive them. For the truth of this description he, Mr. A., could vouch, and he would ask the meeting if this was such a reception as should have been given by a Governor to the delegates of those from the produce of whose labours he was paid, fed, and clothed?”
At the same time, it must be remembered that the deputation came to Sir Charles with rather a large order, including in it the removal from office of his (Sir Charles’s) own chief. Earl Grey had promised to send out emigrants and convicts in a certain proportion; but he had only sent the last, and thus was “guilty of faithless and arbitrary conduct;” and this same speaker, already quoted, demanded at the meeting “that Earl Grey should be at once dismissed her Majesty’s service, and without a character, too.”
There was much talk, also, about the squatters, and much abuse of them; and someone suggested the formation of a colonial nobility, and proposed that “William Charles Wentworth should be raised to the first rank, under the title of ‘Duke of the Lash and Triangle.’ “
Mr. Parkes also addressed the meeting. Said he, among other things: “All they now sought to do, however, was so to reform and remodel the Government of the colony that it should live in the affections of the people —a game at which, as we all know, the speaker subsequently took many a hand himself, and with no small measure of success.
Mr. Lowe (afterwards Lord Sherbrooke) at this same gathering made a long and violent speech: “Was the Governor afraid of his spoons,” he asked; “or did he fear that some of them (the delegates) might sneak into his cellar and drink his claret; or did he dread them lest they should take Government House by storm; or did he think that six pairs of dirty shoes were quite sufficient at one time to soil the Vice-regal carpet?”
And Sir Charles really seems to have been afraid of a general rising, “for the kitchen was garrisoned with infantry, the stables were filled with cavalry, all ready prepared at the first signal to dash out upon the people; and this because the colonists had come humbly and quietly to remonstrate against an act of injustice.” All of which reads very curiously to-day. Nothing, however, could have been more decorous or orderly than the conduct of the great meeting we have been speaking of, which finally separated with three cheers for the Queen, three cheers for Mr. Lowe, a groan for Mr. Wentworth, and a groan for the Governor. Strange how that name of Wentworth, once synonymous with all that represented freedom and progress, should now have so lost its former power, and be held up to obloquy and contempt!
And, after all, the Hashemy’s crowd was simply rushed. Reports the Principal Superintendent of Convicts on June 24, 1849:—”After the completion of the muster of the prisoners… the men were permitted to make engagements with those persons who were allowed to go on board for the purpose by an order from me; and it seems worthy of remark that, although at the time of the Hashemy’s arrival there were four emigrant ships in the harbor, containing about a thousand souls, all these men, with the exception of 59, who were removed to Moreton Bay and Clarence River, where labour was urgently required, were hired to respectable householders and sheep farmers within six days of their being ready to engage, at wages varying from £12 to £16 a year, and some mechanics at £28 per annum, the boys receiving from £8 to £11 per annum. Besides which there are at my office applications from private individuals and others in different parts of the colony, for a larger number of this class of labourers than can be supplied by the arrival of several convict ships.” Which statement placed side by side with those made by the speakers at the representative meetings on Circular Quay, seems, to say the least of it, anomalous.
Among the applicants for ticket-of-leave labour, it was alleged that the Bathurst Bench of Magistrates alone applied for no less than 350 of them! Yet, it is said that fifteen out of the nineteen magistrates composing it signed the petition against the arrival of transportation!
A poet of the day, respecting the burning question, sings:—
“Turn to the Spot. An infant nation pleads;
Pleads for its Rights and injuries unredressed;
Beware, stern parent, lest Oppression’s deeds,
The arm of retribution should arrest;
Rouse all the alien in its gentle breast,
Till freedom’s spirit spurns its chains of clay—
Shade of departed Graecia here attest,
How in thy rugged straits, Thermopylae!
The Spartan Patriots bled and died for liberty!”
Many of these patriots, evidently, were more prepared to foster transportation than to do any bleeding or dying for the suppression of the system,
And thus ended, for a time, the excitement caused by the advent of the Hashemy.
Speaking of Parkes, and addressing the meeting, reminds one that in the “Atlas” of 1849, appears the following advertisement:
“PARASOL AND UMBRELLA REPAIRS.
“The Subscriber having Received a Complete assortment of parasol and umbrella furniture from the first house in London, begs to state, that in all repairs entrusted to him, only new articles will in future be used. Handles, hooks, pen-rules, eta, in ivory, coquilla, pearl, horn, and bone, to match any kind of furniture, fitted at ten minutes’ notice. Henry Parkes, Ivory Turning Manufactory and Toy Warehouse, No. 20 Hunter-street.” “No. 20” is the shop now occupied by Mr. M’Carthy, the well-know chemist.
But Parkes never seems to have been much of a business man, although he certainly advertised very freely in the newspapers of the period. Politics and shopkeeping, in a small way, as a rule, do not thrive in company, especially when represented in the guise of such an ardent, impatient, turbulent, ambitious soul as that of our own “Sir Henry.”
Auction sales seem to have been a feature, even as is the case now, of those times in Sydney. And some of the announcements are amusing. For instance: “Messrs. Brown and Jones, at their mart, at 11 o’clock, 150 dozen kangaroo skins, a second-hand gig, ship-biscuit, baby-linen, damaged ironmongery, bottled fruits, castor oil, canary birds, Bohemian glass, accordians, and the effects of a deceased clergyman, comprising robes, etc.”
Again:
“Mr. Robinson will have the honor to offer to public competition on Monday, the 4th instant, the Crow’s Nest Station, in the district of Moreton Bay, with 10,000 sheep; after which arrowroot, blacking, lime-juice, lozenges, ladies’ companions, jams, bathbricks, damaged gunny-bags, Turkey figs, toothbrushes, 12,000ft of prime cedar plank, a four-roomed house, an anchor and chain, a mare, a horse, and twenty pigs.”
One more:
“At 3 p.m. precisely, the newly-rigged, copper-bottomed clipper Mary Anne, well known in the trade: One gross of egg spoons, a bass, viol, a superior Europe feather-bed, two lots of land, two bales of super-calico, Old Tom, soup and bouilli, toys, cutlery, and a cottage piano.” If the framer of these advertisements had purposely tried his hardest to do so, he could scarcely have got together a more incongruous selection of articles.
During these later years we get glimpses of the social life of the city lacking in the earlier ones. For instance, one visitor, writing of the theatre, says:
“In decency of demeanor the audience of the Sydney Theatre Royal is a prodigy compared with that of similar establishments in the seaport towns of the old country. The ‘gods’ are particularly well-behaved The dress-boxes are always unpeopled unless an impulse be given by a bespeak or by the benefit of a favorite. These appeals act as a sort of mental gadfly in society. The herd rushes together with one consent, and disports itself with crowded discomfort; and, once more for a month, perhaps, the playgoer, whom a love of drama only attracts, has the house to himself. In the pit of the Sydney theatre one misses the numerous bald heads of an European parterre, for the people of New South Wales have not yet had time to grow old. On the other hand the eyes of the stranger wander with surprise over the vast numbers of new-born babies—three or four dozen little sucklings taking their natural refection—whilst their mothers seem absorbed in the interest of the piece; their great long-legged daddies meanwhile sprawling over the benches in the simplest of costumes—a check shirt, for instance, wide open at the breast, moleskins, and a cabbage-tree hat.”
Well, could the writer revisit Sydney now, and enter one of the theatres he would see enough bald heads, in all conscience; indeed, well-thatched ones are the exception. We are growing old ever so much too quickly. Nor would he be troubled by the presence of “children in arms,” or by “moleskin trousers and cabbage tree hats.”
As a specimen of the entertainment provided for theatrical patrons in the late forties at the Royal Victoria Theatre, one taken at random from an old paper will give the reader some idea of what used to amuse our citizens and country visitors of half a century ago. It was on the occasion of a benefit to Mr. J. Thomson, and, by the kind permission of Colonel Despard, “the excellent band of H.M. 99th Regiment will be in attendance, and perform several of their most favourite pieces.” The first item on the programme was “the celebrated and much-admired classical delineation of Ancient Sculpture, the Death of Abel, and the Roman Gladiators, by Masters F. and W. Thomson.” Then came the solid part of the performance, in the shape of Luder’s much-admired opera in three parts, entitled “The Night Dancers.” A farce called “No Followers” concluded the entertainment. No prices were mentioned; but tickets were to be had at many shops, and “boxes may be secured at the Victoria Hotel.”
Bushranging was still rife throughout the colony, and in a Sydney paper of 1850 a writer, commenting on the fact, states that the nursery for such desperadoes may possibly exist in the capital itself. The young idlers of the city, it seemed, formed themselves into gangs, and took up positions on the roads leading to the interior. A favourite haunt of theirs, by the way, was the bridge, already mentioned in a previous article as crossing the creek running into Rushcutter’s Bay. And here these youngsters used to he in wait and “stick up” smaller boys who had been out in the bush gathering “five corners,” a wild berry of the scrub. Says a writer who had personal experience of one of these “pushes:” “A knife is held out, and under threats and oaths that would disgrace Norfolk Island the juniors were compelled to ‘dub up,’ or are seized and robbed by force. I myself witnessed and enacted Quixote in an act of puerile bushranging of the above nature—a case of robbery with violence.” “Hurrah for the road!” was the motto of these promising youngsters. “Spicers” was the name they were known by, but the origin of the word appears to be doubtful.
On May 15, 1851, the papers make an announcement of most vital importance to the future of the colony and the city. This was nothing less than the discovery by Mr. Hargraves of payable gold in the Bathurst district. The story has too often been told to need dilating on here;
But a short description of how Sydney took the news may not be out of place. Says one who was on the spot:
“The shops put on entirely new faces. Wares suited to the wants and tastes of general purchasers were thrust ignominiously out of sight, and articles of outfit for gold hunting only were displayed. Blue and red serge shirts, Californian hats, leather belts, “real gold-digging gloves,” mining boots, blankets, white and scarlet, became the show goods in the fashionable streets. The pavements were lumbered with picks, pans, and pots; and the gold-washing machine or Virginian “cradle,” hitherto a stranger to our eyes, became in two days a familiar household utensil, for scores of them were paraded for purchase “from 25s to 40s” in front of stores and stalls, so that a stranger or an absent-minded person who had not yet heard the gathering cry of “Gold, gold!” might have imagined that a sudden and miraculous influx—a plague, in short—of babies had been poured upon the devoted city.”
Many folk for some time refused to believe the news, and persisted in calling it a hoax, and a “cruel” one at that. But when from Summer Hill Creek (Ophir), Turon, and other places, the virgin ore began to flow into Sydney, then indeed, the most incredulous were forced to give in and join in the excitement that literally seethed throughout the city.
The newspapers teemed with advertisements and notices with the description: “Waterproof tents for the El Dorado;” “Quicksilver for amalgamating gold-soil” “Superfine biscuits, packed in tins;” “Wines, ales, and spirits, ready for carriage;” “Spring-carts for the diggings;” “Single and (double guns and pistols for self-defence;” “Conveyance to Ophir, etc.”
Nostrums and quack medicines took unto themselves a local habitation and a name. Thus we read that: “No one who values his health or comfort should proceed to the goldfields without a supply of Laver and Company’s Ophir cordial,” Also: “As the colony is now advancing to a state of unprecedented richness, and the Empire of Australia will yet rival the age called the golden, Leopold Morgan and Company offer their recently-compounded cordial, the Elixir of Life, which will expand the benumbed veins of the gold washers.”
Parties innumerable were made up to journey to the new finds, and such advertisements as the following studded the newspapers:—”Two strong, able young gentlemen are desirious of joining some respectable parties in making up a proper number for the gold fields. They are prepared to contribute a reasonable sum. Address, etc.”
Presently a nugget was found, and we read under the heading of “The Great Goliath of the Australian Diggings”:—“This magnificent specimen of virgin gold, just arrived from the Ophir mines, near Bathurst, weighing about four pounds troy, will be on view this day in the window of Messrs. Brush and Macdonald, jewellers, George-street, prior to its shipment for London, for the great Exhibition of All Nations.” But this was only a baby nugget compared with other finds later on. As might be expected, Sydney, during the first feverish weeks, talked of nothing but gold, and of the curious effects upon society that its discovery had given rise to. And everywhere there fell upon the ear bits of conversation that ran: “Are you going to the diggings? I’m off to-morrow.” “Have you seen the big nugget? They say you can pick ‘em up all over the place out yonder.” “Servants? No; I haven’t got one left. Coachman cleared out last night,” etc.
In a week the streets of the city showed a very perceptible thinning, as people literally stampeded across the Blue Mountains into the land of Promise beyond. The Government, taken by surprise, at such a rapid development, had made no provision to meet it in the way, among others, of police protection, in the big mining camps. To make matters worse, the 150 mounted police had recently been disbanded, and the greatest difficulty was experienced in getting a score or two of them together again for service on the gold fields.
Towards the end of May, Mr. Hudson, of Sydney, merchant, returned from the diggings with about £1000 worth of gold including a 46oz nugget. This was afterwards exhibited at the Crystal Palace, London, and did much, we may be sure, towards advertising the colony and its new and valuable product. New, however, only in the sense, of its being publicly worked, inasmuch as it was well known to many people that for some years past gold in its virgin state had been finding its way into the hands of the city jewellers, who, however, could never be brought to believe that it was indigenous. And so far back as 1823, it is said that a member of a chain-gang, working on the roads near Bathurst, was mercilessly flogged because he was found in possession of a piece of rough gold, which the overseer felt certain was obtained from melted jewellery.
Here is the description of a scene on the road to Homebush, where the writer was going to attend the races, during the early days of the rush:—
“Driving on those two days to Homebush—the Epsom of Sydney—I counted nearly sixty drays and carts heavily laden, proceeding westward, with tents, rockers, flour, tea, sugar, mining tools, etc—each accompanied by from four to eight men, half of whom bore firearms. Some looked eager and impatient, some half ashamed of their errand others sad and thoughtful… They must have thrown all they possessed into the adventure, for most of their equipments were quite new—good stout horses, harness fresh from the saddler’s hands, gay-coloured woollen shirts and comforters, and Californian sombreros of every hue and shape. It was a strange sight—a strange jumble of images. The mind could hardly reconcile a thoroughly English high-road, with toll-bars and public-houses—thoroughly English figures travelling on it to a country racecourse—stage-coaches and four, omnibuses, tandems, scores of neat, private equipages and hack-carriages; sporting butchers and publicans, in “spicy Whitechapels,” Sydney cockneys on square-tailed hacks; “happles and horanges,” “cards of the horses,” etc., with the concurrent stream of oddly-loaded drays, and other slow-moving vehicles piled with business-like stores and unfamiliar utensils, and escorted by parties, no less Englishmen, armed to the teeth, clad in a newly-adopted dress, utterly indifferent to, and apart from the merry scene of the racecourse… One’s mental obfuscation was hardly cleared up by the reflection that these British men, on this British-looking turnpike road were simply journeying some 150 miles—the distance from London to Manchester—for the purpose of digging gold!”
As may be imagined, this sudden and wholesale emigration of all sorts and conditions of men from the capital, affected almost every industry more or less adversely. And none, perhaps, more so than the building trade; indeed, works of this description, both public and private, almost all came to a standstill for lack of skilled and other labour; and, in some cases, their completion was delayed for years. Thus, architecturally speaking, the gold outbreak at first benefited Sydney in very small measure. But later on she reaped the full benefit of it.
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