Diary of Zu Den Han

Diary of Zu den Han

The news of gold spread like wildfire through the villages that have known nothing but war and famine for far too long. Our Chinese sailors returned from Hong Kong with news of a land where hills shine with gold. Australia, but we call it Hsin Chin Shan our New Gold Mountain. In a time when my home Canton grinds with poverty, lawlessness and oppression, I am going to go for my family. I'm determined to make my riches in Australia. Through a ticket credit system I have loaned money from the local trader in our town to buy my passage and agreed to make regular repayments for a year from New Gold Mountain. After this any takings will go back to my family. I wish I could take my family, but our village would have lost too many workers if every man took his wife and children. Tomorrow I set sail.

The trader is sending me and six other men from Canton to the goldfields at Ballarat in Victoria. In the dark of the night we bid our goodbyes to our families to begin our journey. As I waited to board I thought of my family. I wonder what little Mei Lui will look like when I return. Will she be okay without her father, would she understand why I had to go away. My adored wife, I am afraid to leave for her alone.

We six men were lost in a crowd of what I was later to learn were 264 Chinese migrants on board this overcrowded junk ship bound for Hong Kong. Within minutes we were pushed into the holds onboard this Scotland ship "Land of Cakes". Some men are lucky enough to have family in Hong Kong who can house. I am confined to the temporary shelters, run by the same man who loaned me the money for my long journey. The shelter has provided little or nothing in the way of comfort, food is scarce and they are extremely overcrowded. Nevertheless, I know soon, I will be on my way to New Gold Mountain.

To reach Ballarat will take several months. The ship's men are the first exchange I have had with white men. Some treat us reasonably well but others are quite unscrupulous. On board we gamble, play dominoes, cards, and chess and often smoke opium. Food and water are lowered each day by rope and pulley buckets of excreta are drawn up in exchange, sickness is very general. Many men have died and will be buried on shore at port stops. I have to stay strong for my family.

We set out 1 month ago in the gently falling rain. Hundreds of miles we walk. At the Victorian port stop, we quickly learned of a 10 pound fee requisite for us. Because we are Chinese, "uncivilized foreigners" they call us. Our feet didn't stay on dry land for a day before we were restricted to another ship and on our way to Robe, Guichen Bay in Southern Australia. We face a long and dangerous 310 mile walk to the Central diggings in Ballarat.

It seems what we thought we knew for centuries about the western world was far off. We resisted all contact and we were self sufficient. Maybe there was sense in that. I'm quick to learn that were not accepted here. Yesterday we made a short stop in a shop set up by man on the side of a road. I overheard a conversation between a customer, a Polish man and the storeman who has been serving the man . "Where do you come from? The store keeper asked curiously. Ð''Poland,' answered the man. Ð''Why didn't you tell me that before?' Was the dismayed rejoinder. Ð''Why should you be so interested in it?' asked the polish man, quite taken aback. Ð''Because if I knew, I wouldn't have wasted so much time on you. It's well known that you Poles never have anything. Now get out of my shop.'" It seems my race is not the only one they don't like. But that did not stop the polish man yelling obscenities at us before leaving the shop.

I found an article in an Australian Newspaper I picked up in the store. Our white guide man read it to us.

(Primary Source: this traveller in 1867 described a group of Chinese)

"...between six and seven hundred coming overland from Robe. They had four wagons carrying their sick, lame and provisions. They were all walking single file, each one with a pole and two baskets. They stretched for over two miles in procession. I was half and hour passing them Ð'... everyone behind seemed to be yabbering to his mate in front in a sing-song tone".

Our English guide promised to help us with our trail to the goldfields, but has proved unreliable and dishonest. People here are not like at home. After two days of travel he has deserted us. We've quickly learnt from such misfortunes. We heard rumours proven true of Chinese characters in the bark of trees marking the way to the goldfields, from previous compatriots. Now, we can do nothing but keep walking. In our blue tunics and trousers with our European capes to keep out the cold and our conical hats on our heads, our long plaited ques swaying from side to side. We move in shuffling steps at a speed that is kept for hours, the swish of our feet barely leaving the ground making a rhythm that keep us going in step. Swamp, desert, mountain and plain, we travel 20 miles a day. There are midmorning and afternoons breaks, wells are dug at major stops. There have been many casualties along the way. We use our ta'am as tent poles at night and tent six men each.

You could never paint a picture of the goldfields and paint it right. It's so diligent and busy, everyone's always moving. I'm now a member of the Su-Yup clan, a group set up by our people for protection from the white people. For 25 shillings on arrival plus a shilling every month I'm quickly introduced to the Ballarat Goldfields.

We were given a document in which we were to sign, preaching us rules.

(Fig 2 : Rules of a Chinese Society on Ballarat)

The members of the society all belong to the Su-Yup clan.

1. The Su-Yap people no matter whether new chums or ld residents, shall, each man subscribe ₤1 5s. towards Ð'... there club house

3. All our country people who have come to dig for gold must love and help each other.

5. If any individual Ð'... commit(s) theft Ð'...