Gold Rush Geelong

The following article is taken from the 1977 September issue of the Investigator magazine, which in turn draws upon an article published in The Geelong Advertiser on July 15, 1922. Unfortunately neither our magazine nor its earlier source preface the article and the reader is left to speculate upon its context and its writer. It purports to be the words of Mr Wood, who is providing an eye-witness account of the Gold Rush times, suggesting he had lived well into his nineties. Mr Wood had come to Geelong sometime in the 1840s and set up as a saddle and harness maker in Geelong in the years before the discovery of gold.

The writer gives a most colourful account of one day in his life, when he turns adversity into triumph. The year is 1852 and Mr Wood has just stepped off the steamer on his return from Sydney when he is confronted with a threat to his livelihood. In his yarn, he provides the reader with vivid character portraits of people from the day, the changes wrought by the Gold Rush and perhaps a rather self-serving account of his adroitness as a businessman.

From the Geelong Advertiser, 15.7.1922

There are not a great many now living that can remember the early days of the goldfields – the great rush of gold miners, the ships lying in Hobson’s Bay deserted by their crews, the expansive land covered with calico tents and the eager crowds invading peaceful Geelong for carts, horses, tin dishes, shovels and billies, etc. Geelong was then the centre of would-be mining activity.

It was difficult, indeed almost impossible, to manufacture the requirements of this motley crowd. I was a saddler and harness maker, and had been resident in Geelong for some years when gold was discovered, and in 1850 had just completed a block of buildings on a leasehold at the corner of Malop and Moorabool streets, opposite Dalgety’s and Ibbotson’s. I carried on business in the corner, and one of the side shops fronting Moorabool Street was occupied by Joseph Tolson, who is a gold buyer.

Many a day he bought from £5000-£10,000 worth of the precious metal. The price was then not £4 an ounce, but only, if my memory serves me rightly, about 52/6 or 55 shillings. Many times when I had sold a set of harness or a saddle to a digger, I had been asked “to take it out of that“, the purchaser handing me a small chamois leather bag of gold or a good sized nugget. I used to run into Tolson‘s next door, and ask him “how much is this worth, Tolson?“ And getting his reply, giving the balance of change to the buyer. How the money tumbled in in those “good old times”. It was just wonderful. There were many queer characters about, and I never would go home to my house two nights running the same way. But I was never stuck up. Once home, I would turn out my pockets, and try to realise the day’s takings, and where the cash came from.

I could not keep up my stock, and Melbourne for most things was not a good market to buy in – so the exigencies of my business compelled me to go further field – sometimes to Hobart town (as it was as it was known in those days), or perhaps up to Sydney, in which towns I could always buy cheaper.

I remember on one occasion in 1852. I had been to Sydney to buy stock, and on the day of my return – coming up from the wharf, carpet bag in hand (there were no “gladstones” in those days), I met a fellow trader, Cowie by name, with whom I was on friendly terms.

“Hello, old man – you look as if you’ve been travelling – where have you been? I did not know you had been away.“

“Why, yes,“ returned I. “I’ve just come off the steamer – been to Sydney.”

“The deuce you have. Well, ta-ta, just now. I suppose I shall see you at the sale.”

“What sale?“ I asked astonishment, for you must know I had not seen a paper or a soul I recognised, and I was hurrying home to report myself to my wife, who I knew would be anxious for my arrival, as the weather on the coast had been terrible.“

“Why, don’t you know? There’s a big sale of saddlery up at Forster and Carrs. I thought you knew all about it.“

“Not a word,” said I. “Whose goods are they?”

“Oh, I’m not sure. I think Dalgety’s from the description of the stuff.”

Now, I was real vexed, for I had been indenting through this firm a good deal, and I did not think they were doing the fair thing to sell any consignment by auction to the detriment of the trade. So I said to Cowie: “why didn’t you buy them instead of letting them go to auction and ruining our trade?”

“That’s all very well for you to talk, “he replied. “I can’t buy everything” – and so we parted. I made up my mind quickly, and I rush to Carr’s auction room, saw the goods, recognised the make, and determined to go and interview Mr. Ibbotson.

Off, I went down to Dalgety’s, and enquired if Mr. Ibbotson was in his room.

“Yes, go in, Mr Wood, you’ll find him there”, said the clerk.

I knocked at the door and went in. “Good morning, Mr Ibbotson,” I said.

“Oh, how are you, Mr Wood?” said he, rising from his chair and shaking hands with me.

“Oh, well enough in health, but bad in temper,” I said.

“Why – what’s wrong?” inquired he.

“Well, “I replied, “here I have been indenting rather to a big tune through you and I find you are putting the same class of goods on the market and selling by auction. I don’t think it’s fair…”

“Pardon me,” said Ibbotson (looking serious), “but I understood the invoice was offered to you and that you refused to buy. “

“No, “I replied, “I have never had the offer of them, or else I would’ve entertained it.”

“That’s strange,” he said, rising from his seat and going to an inner door. “Send Mr Jenkins to me,” and sitting down again, remarked, “I cannot understand it. “

Jenkins appeared in a moment. “Oh, Mr Jenkins, these goods that have been sold today by Forster and Carr – I thought I understood you were offered them to Mr Wood?”

“Well,” replied Jenkins, “I did go to Mr Wood with that object in mind, but he was out of town and I did not see him. Then I went to C., who said they would not suit him and I thought well if they won’t suit C., Mr Wood won’t buy, and that is how the matter was left.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry.” Ibbotson was a very fair man and I could see he was turning the matter over in his mind.

“Well, Mr Wood,“ he said, reiterating his regrets, “it is not too late now I will sell you the invoice…”

“What price do you want?” I questioned.

“Give me a third advance, and settle it.”

“They’re mine,“ I said. “Write me an order for the goods into the auctioneer.”

Getting the order, off I rushed to Yarra Street, and seeing Carr, I presented the order to him. He was just getting into the box. He read it through and angrily remarked, “I cannot do this, Mr Wood – here the sale is just commencing – the people are here and have been coming for the last four days to make enquiry and examining the goods. I shall never hear the last of it, with during the goods and stopping the sale at the last moment.”

I thought a moment there being some justice in his remarks. “Alright, “I said, “go on with the sale, but mind you are selling on my account, not Dalgety’s. I will take care that they do not go too cheap.“

“I will, that’s your business,“ he said, and immediately commenced to read the conditions of sale and expatiated on the quality of the goods.

I turned around, and who should come in but C. I went to him – “Here, I want you,“ so we went to one side out of the hearing of the assembly, which was a numerous one, the sale having been well advertised in the goods a most useful lot for my present requirements. I cast my eyes around and noticed a number of good buyers – men from the Barrabool Hills, Portarlington and elsewhere, as well as a good sprinkling of traders and country store-keepers. I said to Cowie, “I’ve bought these goods from Ibbotson, and they are going to be sold on my account – as I want to act fairly with you – will you go halves? We can buy what we want and what will not suit us, let them buy, but they must not go to cheap; run up every lot – let them pay for them.”

C. looked at me and then ejaculated, “My conscience! You’re a rum one. Alright, I’m with you in this” – and the sale proceeded.

To say it was a success is telling only half the truth. It was prodigious! We ran every lot up. C. and I bought what we wanted, and what we did not want was sold in many cases for three times of value. The profit on what was sold more than paid for all we bought ourselves, but this was not all. A public sale like this so enhanced the value of our stock that I honestly believe I made a couple of thousand pounds by this transaction.

Much as I was devoted to my wife, she did not see me till late that afternoon.

Addendum: The photograph used with this article comes from the J F Costa Collection and possibly shows the buildings mentioned by Mr Wood above. Ian Wynd, editor of the Investigator magazine in 1977, also wrote a biography of James Cowie (1809–1892), who figures in this article, which was published in the Australia Dictionary of Biography in 1969 and which is available online.