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History Letter from a gold prospector (dated 17th July 1869)

Letter from a gold prospector (dated 17th July 1869)
I shall endeavor to dissipate the false halo of romance in which the Sutherland gold fields have been partially enveloped, owing the glowing and exaggerated reports which have found their way from time to time into the columns of the press.

Without further preamble, I hold that the Sutherland gold diggings have as yet, for all practical purpose, proved a most complete failure. It is a fact that with the exception of a few poor fishermen who, owing to the introduction of the license system, are now precluded from digging, few, if any, have made their own of Scottish gold diggings.

True some dozen shop keepers, a publican or two, and three or four storekeepers, all more or less interested in the circulation of inflated reports of them have benefited by the diggings. More thane one instance has come under my own direct observation of men who left their families, traveled a long journey - provided themselves by dint of severe pinching with expensive tools - paid £1 a-month for permission to dig forty square feet of rocky moor - worked like galley slaves month after month - and in the end were obliged to sell their all in order to provide themselves with the necessaries of life as they trudged miserably home on foot. Arrived in Helmsdale from Golspie after a walk of 18 miles, I lose no time in procuring cheap lodgings, for the day had been excessively hot, and I was tired and footsore. Having but ten miles before me 'ere I reached the land of gold, I am up with the lark on the morrow. My way lay along a dreary and uninteresting strath, through which flowed the river Helmsdale.

. ....A mile or two further, and there comes in sight the old parish church of Kildonan. I was not prepared to find it the neat, trim, comfortable-looking little church it is. Once past the church, the township of Kildonan, the great center of attraction, speedily comes in sight, and a curious conglomeration of nondescript erections it looks. It consists of one street of about 150 yards in length, with a style of architecture more varied than elegant - wooden huts, canvas tents, inverted boats, old sails spread over the walls of turf, dilapidated vehicles covered with tarpaulin, old vans, strongly reminding one of traveling shows - anything and everything that the owners could convert into partial shelter from wind and weather.

My approach attracted the attention of one of the storekeepers who happened to be on the alert.

"Going to try your luck at the diggings, Sir? That's right. Plenty of gold here, if one could only get to it. I suppose you have no tent of your own, if you step in, and have a look at our crib, I think I can fix ye."

I stepped in as desired.

"There you are, Sir, this is our store. We shall be glad to supply you with anything you may want from a needle to a cradle." "A cradle!"

I exclaimed in astonishment. "What in the wide world do you want cradles for at Kildonan?"

"Not for rocking babies, you may be sure. Meantime you had better step in at the next door and have a look at our cooking and sleeping departments."

The cooking and the sleeping departments turned out to be one and the same - a pretty sizeable room with an American stove at one end and on each side rude shelves that served for beds, built one above the other after the manner of berths on board ship - while a narrow deal table ran down the center. I was informed if I had blankets I might have the use of one of them - for 2s per week...

I laid in a sufficient supply of provisions and set out for 'the creek' to view the operations of the diggers. On reaching the summit of an adjacent hill, I could obtain a fine view of the burn for at least a mile, with the diggers hard at work. And a most picturesque and animated scene they presented - these hundred of so stalwart men, as they shifted to and fro - some digging with spades and shovels, some with picks pulling down the banks, some tearing up rock with crowbar, some carrying 'stuff' in buckets or wheeling it in barrows, some working sluices and 'long toms', some rocking the mysterious 'cradles' with the regularity of clockwork, while some with pick and gold pans were searching eagerly every nook and corner for 'prospects' of better 'claims'.

Upon returning to the township I inaugurated my camp life by preparing my own tea. With scanty utensils for cooking - lager tablespoons instead of teaspoons - the bare deal in lieu of plates - no milk nor cream - rank, vile-smelling, hairy butter, and suet pretty much like the size and consistency of ordinary macadam's - it may readily be imagined that my first meal at Kildonan was far from being a very enjoyable one. The diggers who lived in the hut - some twelve or thirteen in number - now dropped in one by one, and tired and hungry enough they looked.

After supper there was a general adjournment, some to spinning yarns over their pipes, some to making necessary repairs, some to reviewing their day's work.

"Well Ballarat, I suppose you have made a pile today?"

"O yes, Bill, I have, and a good one too - of rubbish."

"How have you got on today, Bob?"

"Middling, just some five or six pennyweights."

Night creeps on, and there is a general scramble to bed, hard boards, each several inches apart, with common thin sacking filled with nothing by way of mattress, a blanket and transparent coverlet, both of limited dimensions and questionable cleanliness.

No sleep for me, squeezed between two stout fellows who snored like porpoises, the frosty night air whistling in at every chink and cranny, little wonder I could sleep. Not many nights were destined to pass before I could sleep as soundly as the loudest snorer in the camp. About four o'clock I was startled by the information conveyed in language by no means of the choicest, that 'boiling' was ready, and that it was high time to rise. Then a scuffle for tea and coffee-pots, and the other varied utensils requisite for cooking and eating breakfast. Many were blessed with enormous appetites, and had plenty good substantial food. A few, with appetites probably equally keen, were under the necessity of contenting themselves with partaking but sparingly, and that of dry bread and coffee, oatmeal brose without milk or butter.

Five o'clock sharp, and we are off, our pipes in full cloud, and half a loaf of bread and butter under our arm. My 'claim' is two miles away, but as the burn winds considerably, we can take a nearer cut across the hill. The morning is a misty and drizzly one, for it has rained hard during the night. It is very wet underfoot, but what of that when one is digging for gold! So off with coat and vest, roll up sleeves to the shoulder, for we must strip a 'paddock' sufficient in size to keep us cradling and washing for the day.

Smoking? No time for that: I can't afford it; but a drink of water we must have and a glorious, cool refreshing draught it is. That? Why it is only a snake I have startled from his tuft of heather. Plenty of them hereabouts - and ugly, venomous creatures they are - but the diggers know how to fix them - a cut with the shovel and all is over.

Twelve o'clock! Dinner time already, and how little accomplished! A good three feet yet before we reach the bedrock, and that will take two hours at least, so we must have a short half-hour for dinner today. Doesn't the bread and butter taste delicious! and this crystal water - why it beats Bass's hollow! Seven o'clock, and our day's work is over, and not bad day's work either, taking the ordinary run of luck. Over half a pennyweight of gold! About 1s 8d (8p) worth for fourteen hours' work! Nearly a penny and half per hour!

I have myself worked from five o'clock in the morning till seven or eight at bight - worked up to the knees in mud and water, with hands blistered and hacked, and chipped and bruised, pulling down banks, tearing up rocks, rolling away great boulders, shoveling aside sand, gravel, and stones: and I have found in the end that I have earned about 9d or 10d (approx. 4p).

Lest, however, any of your readers might imagine that I have only been indulging in a fit of spleen owing to my own disappointment, permit me, in conclusion, to say, one having time and money at his disposal, but whose health may not be quite so vigorous as he would wish it, or who may desire to obtain a souvenir of Sutherland gold of his own digging, nothing could be more jollier or more pleasant then to provide himself with a tent and all the necessary concomitants, and to pitch his camp for a month or so during the summer at Kildonan or Suisgill Burns... I'll guarantee that he will soon pick up an appetite of the very first magnitude, which, after all is more to be desired than gold

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