Doughtown Scrip.

Perhaps I ought to begin by mentioning that this is not a "city article." Nor am I either a broker or a jobber, although I do propound the question, Does any reader andently burn to possess himself of some Doughtown scrip? If so, I am prepared to supply a considerable parcel of the same.

It behoves me to explain, first, what Doughtown scrip is; and, secondly, how I came to be a holder of it. It is necessary to begin by being geographical.

Nearly the whole of the west coast of the Middle Island of New Zealand is auriferous. Fifteen years ago the diggings there were, perhaps, the richest in the world. It seemed as if you could hardly go wrong. A ship's boat disembarked you on the black sand of the sea-shore. You need have gone no further, but simply have shovelled the black sand into your dish, washed it in the sea-water, and lo! there was a rich gold residuum. Ten thousand diggers— you could not call them miners—were delving in the black sand of a long strip of beach sixty miles south of Hokitika. It was not as a gold-miner that I visited Westland in a recent March—that is the autumn season in New Zealand —but as a lecturer. With all its roughness, there is hardly any chance aggregation of humanity in the world more intelligent than a gold-mining community. It is sure to contain an exceptional number of educated men who retain their taste for reading. Out of the world by force of their conditions, gold-miners retain a keen interest in the world, especially the world of action. They follow the story of a campaign with engrossed interest. They take sides while Britain is not in the arena; in that case they are all on one side with a grand fervour. They stand with Chard and Bromhead inside the frail stronghold of Rorke's Drift, and, page 260in fancy, with flushed faces and sparkling eyes, they charge home with the big troopers at Kassassin.

It was, as I suppose, because the plain blunt stories I tried to tell on the lecturing platform were tales of campaign and battle-field that they sent to tell me they wanted me to go among them. The message came to me at Christchurch, just as I was making ready to take a reluctant departure from beautiful, hospitable New Zealand. I took it as among the best compliments that ever had been paid me, and, postponing my departure, proceeded to obey the summons.

The day after a lecture night in Hokitika, some friends were kind enough to drive me out to look at the Humphrey's Gully gold-mining claim. It was a pleasant drive, through picturesque country, in which nestled quaint mining hamlets that already had taken on a strangely old-world aspect. Everywhere were ferns such as would have given ecstasies to a British fancier; and over the fern verdure waved the tall sombre pines. A broad placid river flowed gently down to the sea, margined by paddocks whose grass had the greenness of the Old Country. And above the flowing water, clinging on the slopes between the river meadows and the ferns, there were pretty picturesque cottages over whose porches and gables trailed roses and honeysuckles.

About ten miles from Hokitika we pulled up at a lone publichouse, where we were to leave the vehicle; for the rest of the way to where Humphrey's nozzle played on the face of his Gully was to be done only on foot, and not very easily thus, as I had occasion to discover.

As we halted, there emerged from the bar of the public-house a man who wore the long boots and the woollen jumper of a miner; but he had accentuated his mission by accoutring himself with a tall hat considerably the worse for wear. This article of attire he took off, and deliberately set down on the stool under the publichouse verandah. From its depths he produced a voluminous blue pocket handkerchief, which he used with effusion, and replaced. Then he accosted the inmates of the vehicle.

He set forth, using grotesquely the longest words he could unearth, that he was a delegate from Doughtown, which he explained was across the swamp and beyond the ridge. Doughtown had heard that I was being brought out page 261to visit Humphrey's Gully, and had sent its representative to beg with all respect, but with vehement urgency, that I should pay a visit to Doughtown, and favour the inhabitants of that camp with a lecture. It was a young and sequestered place, was Doughtown, he explained; still chiefly in the canvas stage of development. He had been appointed town clerk in advance of the town; and he spoke therefore with some official position.

If I consented, he would immediately return to Dough-town with the news; whereupon a deputation should betake itself to where we now were, to await our return from Humphrey's Gully, and escort me across to Doughtown in worthy and seemly fashion.

There was only one reply possible to so flattering a request. The delegate reinstated his hat. We walked on into the Gully; he started across the swamp for Doughtown.

Of the Gully I will only say that it was very rugged, very slippery, and not a little damp. We had afternoon tea with a miner's wife in a shanty whose canvas walls were lined with pictures from the Illustrated News and Graphic. The good lady had some children, and professed concern about her eldest son, a lively youth of twelve. She could not get him to mind his books, for there was no minute of any day that he did not spend in assiduous prospecting. The young gentleman took me aside later on, and tried to open a negotiation in relation to a claim which he averred would beat the Humphrey's Gully into fits.

As we approached "Webster's Corner" on the return journey, the Doughtown deputation was visible, lounging under the verandah. We were greeted with a cheer as we drove up, and every member of it was duly introduced by the town clerk, and solemnly shook hands. They were a fine manly-looking set of fellows, those Doughtown men—strapping, upright, bearded, with heads well up, and frank, honest eyes. Their speech betrayed that most of them were Scots.

Then we set out for the two-mile trudge to Doughtown. There was no cart road to that place, and no wheeled vehicle had ever been nearer to it than "Webster's." The town clerk hilariously led the way; we followed in a posse, and a lone man trudged in the rear with a big stone jar slung by a strap over his shoulder.

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When we got into the swamp the miners insisted on carrying me on a king's cushion. With joined hands two abreast made a sort of seat on which I sat with an arm round the neck of each of my bearers. I was not in robust health, and they had somehow come to know this: they all but resorted to physical force to ensconce me in the living chair.

Then we climbed a low green ridge, and there Doughtown lay at our feet. As regards looks, Doughtown had no great pretensions. There was a higgledy-piggledy cluster of tents and shanties among the stumps, and all around was the oozy, stunted, sour-looking forest. Some holes there were, and hillocks of sweaty soil, and here and there a whim, and yonder a windlass with a bucket close up to the cross-bar.

The population, numbering about two hundred able-bodied men, a good many women, and a large assortment of children, had clustered in the foreground, and welcomed our appearance in the distance with vehement cheering and a desultory gun-fire. A few flags waved in the damp languid wind.

As we drew near, Doughtown came out to meet us. A grey-bearded man was in advance, whom the town clerk introduced under the high-sounding title of the "Reeve of Doughtown." Then with indiscriminate hand-shaking we passed on, until the reeve halted in front of a central shanty which I assumed to be the Guildhall and Mansion House of Doughtown all in one.

We—my Hokitika friends had accompanied me—were invited inside, and the conscript fathers enthusiastically drank the health of the person whom the worthy reeve called "our distinguished visitor."

After these preliminaries, the formal business commenced on the stoop outside. Modesty bids me bury in oblivion the flattering expressions which his worship permitted himself in introducing me to the Doughtown audience.

It was necessary for me to explain that, having been taken by surprise, I could only speak from memory. But the excellent folks of Doughtown were not exacting. Any pause that occurred from a lapse in ready words they filled up with applause. One longer interval than usual they utilised by singing "For he's a jolly good fellow," right through to the bitter end.

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When I had made an end of speaking, "God save the Queen" was sung, partly as a finale, partly as an introduction to the speeches in which a vote of thanks was proposed.

Then it became time for us to go. But I must not go empty-handed, as it seemed. I had noticed the town clerk with his hat in his hand, dodging about among the audience which was standing there out in the open. Presently he came up on to the stoop and whispered to the reeve. That civic chief spread his red cotton handkerchief on the table which had been brought outside, and the town clerk emptied into the handkerchief the contents of his hat.

It was a curious collection. There was a sovereign, several half-sovereigns, at least one threepenny-piece, and quite a number of little nuggets. And this miscellaneous assortment of metal the reeve announced was Doughtown's contribution in requital of my lecture. He wished, said he—he was sure all wished—that the collection had been four times as liberal, but "things," he explained, "are just now rather quiet with us."

Of course, I could not take the offering—that was out of the question. I declined, with some expression of full satisfaction in the compliment that had been paid to me, the pleasant memory of which any recompense would utterly mar. I picked out a small nugget which I would have set in a shirt-pin as a souvenir, and concluded by wishing success to Doughtown.

But the authorities were obviously not quite satisfied with this arrangement. There was a consultation between the reeve and the town clerk. The latter went inside, and came back with a small packet, which he handed to his worship. Then his worship commanded silence, and spoke thus:—

"Sir, to-day will be memorable in Doughtown annals. It marks the first step in Doughtown's intellectual career. You, sir, have come among us. We are a remote community; but we have energy, perseverance, and industry. You can tell the Old Country when you go back to it that in becoming New Zealand colonists we have not ceased to be Britons. You have heard us, sir, sing, 'God save the Queen'; and that with us, sir, was no unmeaning chant— it came from out our very hearts.

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"We are a peaceful folk. You have described battles to us, and I am sure you had no listener who was not glad that his lot has not been cast in such scenes. But there is no man of us who would not brave all the dangers and horrors you told us of, on behalf of Queen and country. You will do a good turn if you will let that be known at Home.

"And, sir, you decline to take any recompense for the trouble you have given yourself this day on our account. But we may beg of you to take away with you such a souvenir as may give you an interest in the fortunes of Doughtown. Some of our citizens have just united their mining interests into a company,—the prospects of which, it is true, are still in embryo, but in which we allow ourselves firmly to believe. I hold in my hand, sir, the scrip of two hundred shares in the Doughtown United Gold-mining Company (Limited); and of that scrip, sir, in the name of the community of Doughtown, I respectfully request your acceptance. For the present you will find it unsaleable at any price; but the time may come, sir, when, in the words of Dr. Johnson, it may 'enrich you beyond the dreams of avarice.' Your acceptance, sir, will give Doughtown a fresh incentive to make the enterprise a success."

I took the scrip. One share I have pasted in my album as a souvenir: the rest I do not care particularly about holding. The rumour of an imminent call has reached me. Perhaps I should mention that there is a liability of 15s. on each share. The worthy reeve did not mention this potty circumstance, and of course I could not look the gift horse in the mouth. Are there any applicants, then, for 199 shares of the "Doughtown United"?

—A. Forbes

("Souvenirs of some Continents," 1885).