Arriving in Australia

My life is like a history book and, to tell my story arriving in Australia, I will have to explain the reasons why I came in the first place. I will also have to explain the reasons why the Australians were distrustful of me and my fellow compatriots. Why they discriminated and treated us so badly. I’m an old man now and life is only a little better. I married a young Irish girl, Katherine Martin, and had nine children – three boys and six girls. My wife died after the birth of the last child and I brought up the children on my own.

I was born into a rice farming family in the province of Canton, China. Life was hard, very hard in the 1850’s because of political uprisings, droughts followed by floods. My family was always hungry. There were too many mouths to feed. I will always remember this day when my father came home from the town market. He had been drinking tea in the tea house where he met a stranger, an agent from a shipping company. The agent spoke of a strange land far away that had ‘mountains of gold’, a sun lit place where the hills shone with gold and golden nuggets could be picked up as you walked down streets. He told my father that he could arrange a loan for the voyage.

My honourable father told me that I, Pan Ah Shin, his eldest son, would go to ‘New Gold Mountain’ to find gold - gold for our family’s survival and prosperity. I felt proud to help our family’s fortunes change but, as I had never ventured very far from home before, I did feel rather tentative. My father organised the equivalent of a twelve pound loan for the journey and my destiny was set in motion.

The day arrived for me to leave, to join a group of other young men who shared the same poverty stricken circumstances as me - leaving shops, or farms, or rice fields and families. My family had tears in their eyes as I marched away but I daren’t look back. My honour wouldn’t let me but I couldn’t help wondering what fate had in store for me. However, I enjoyed the company and excitement of my fellow marchers as we walked the three hundred miles to Guangzhou and I was determined to make life better for myself and my family.

I had clothing, bedding, cooking pots, a prospecting pan, a shovel, rice, dried and salted fish, smoked and pickled duck, dried vegetables and various items for trade packed in two sacks which was hung from each end of a pole which rested on my shoulders. I was very tired after the long, hot march and I was looking forward to resting on the ship.

Once in Guangzhou, we were ferried to the port of Hong Kong in an overcrowded junk. Hurriedly, we were boarded onto the ship “FP Sage” an American clipper manned by men who looked and sounded very strange to me. You must understand that I had never seen a white man before this day. I was shouted at and shoved into the bowels of the ship, a very dark, dank and foul smelling place where the sound of the lapping waves, was not the only thing that frightened me. Chinese people are very superstitious. We believe that evil spirits hide in corners and I had many fears and anxious thoughts sitting in the ship’s hull looking for places where they might be. I wished that I could set up a small shrine to honour my dead ancestors. I looked around the gloomy hull and thought ‘this is to be my home for the next three months’.

I looked at the bunks with dismay as they were little more than a narrow shelf in the hold of the ship. Each bunk was shared and while I slept with my bunk mate’s feet in my face and he suffered my feet – most uncomfortable. Although Chinese people are relatively small in stature, I was considered tall at four foot six inches in height, so you can imagine the cramped conditions we suffered on that leg of the journey. I was kept below deck for the whole journey. The smell of sickness, unwashed bodies, the humidity and the heat was stifling. I was miserable for the whole three months. Not only were infection and disease was rife amongst us but sea sickness was most common. My aching head and nauseous stomach kept me at my end of the bunk. The herbal medicines that I had packed did not relieve my symptoms.

Many men died of fevers or dysentery and their bodies were thrown overboard. I cannot remember how many. Some men gambled amongst themselves to pass the time which left many short of cash for the rest of the journey. Our food and water had to be rationed towards the end of the journey and yet, we Chinese knew about adversity in our home land and so we were philosophical about our present situation. We all looked forward to the day when our lives would be transformed.

I was relieved when our ship laid down its anchor in Dai gum san waters. I knew that we were outside the small harbour town of Robe in South Australia. But before I could set foot on the Australian shore, I had to pay a local boat owner to row me to the beach. Fortunately, I could pay the eight shillings and I scrambled on board the small rowing boat. Those Chinese who could not pay were thrown overboard along with their baggage to swim to shore or drown.

As a group, we were totally reliant on the population of Robe for directions or guides to take us to ‘Big Gold Mountain’, our destination in the Victorian Goldfields. Many rumours circulated amongst us. My group leader, who spoke a little English, sought out a guide who agreed to lead us to Ballarat for four pounds a head. Other fellow Chinese chose a bullocky to take them but we had been warned that some bullockies were unreliable. They would take you half way and leave you to find for your own way to the gold fields. I had been warned of villains who would rob or even kill for our money or goods and told of aboriginal people who may attack on the trek.

However, I was keen to get started on our four hundred mile walk. My group, about three hundred of us, assembled behind our horse backed guide. With my six foot long bamboo pole slung across my shoulders and in single line I was on my way. I was dressed like my fellow countrymen – blue wool lined blouse, wide legged blue trousers, parasol like hats from which hung my long black pigtail. And so, with short steps, chanting “Ballalat, Ballalat, Ballalat”, my group snaked its way along a stockmen trail to join other hopefuls in Ballarat.

I had no idea that the people and countryside of Australia would be so strange. The dress and manners of the people were so different that I was frightened by their behaviour and looks. And so I and my fellow sojourners kept to ourselves. The trees were dull and uninteresting, oddly shaped with a distinctive, though not unpleasant, odour. Except for a few trees here and there the whole area seemed dry, lifeless and colourless – not like the busyness of green rice fields of home.

The animals and birds were peculiar. At first I was frightened by the strange night noises which I later learnt were howling dingos, or screaming possums or grunting wombats but I found the kangaroos quite amusing as they hopped and jumped away from us. Snakes and lizards were plentiful and I did not like meeting up with them, especially after a fellow traveller died from snake bite. We buried him alongside the track.

I found the extremes of Australia’s climate very harrowing. I was not prepared for the harsh and varied environments I found myself in. I crossed wetlands, deserts, hills and plains. For me, coping with the variation of heat during the day, the freezing cold at night and the long walk was very draining on my mind and body. Exhaustion, colds and diarrhoea were my worst enemies but luckily with the help of the Gods and my devotion to religion, I survived. Many didn’t. Some, who couldn’t keep up, turned back to Robe or some nearby town to try their luck at growing and selling vegetables or setting up laundries or cooking food for the Chinese travellers.

Our guide took us to sheep stations for water and provisions and I helped build fences and sheds on those properties in lieu of payment, especially around the Penola area of South Australia. Waterholes were especially important to us. Many Chinese had built wells along the track to help those that followed. I would lift the most welcome water from the well in an iron bucket and chain which was attached to a wooden pole to pour into my pottery jar. The well was always covered to protect it from evaporation and contamination. I saw marked trees or coins attached to trees, to show the route to Ballarat. However, I also saw many abandoned clothes or tools along the track which gave me great sadness as I speculated on the fate of the owners.

When I arrived in Ballarat, I was invited to join a small team of ten men. Ping Foo, the head man, allocated duties to each of our team. I was assigned to mining while a couple of men looked after our gardens and meals. I worked hard but lived simply for several years until the gold ran out. Like the rest of my team, repayment of my loan was uppermost in my thoughts. Our team did not like going underground for fear of offending the Mountain Gods so we found gold, panning the surface rubble from abandoned claims.

We all were hard working, honest people but many a time I suffered beatings from the Anglo Saxons. Because of our religion, they regarded us as pagans, idol worshipers and heathens. We were regarded as an inferior race. If there was an outbreak of disease, we were blamed. Our dress and facial features set us apart and, because we were an all male community, they looked upon us with suspicion. The whites were resentful of our mining methods and successes and riots broke out. Many Chinese were killed or beaten and our tents and equipment smashed.

Well, I survived my arrival in Australia, my trek to Ballarat and life on the goldfields. I payed back the loan to my parents as well as sending them money which I have done every month since leaving the goldfields. Many Chinese returned home but a few remained. I was one of those who remained and hundred of my descendants will meet one day in the future at King Valley, Victoria to celebrate my life and the life of my wife, Katherine Ah Shin.