HOW THE MULLIGATAWNY SCRIP CAME DOWN. THE STORY OP A MINING SWINDLE. [Written for the Star Saturday Supplement by J.A.P.]

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 89, 14 February 1885, Page 5

HOW THE MULLIGATAWNY SCRIP CAME DOWN. THE STORY OP A MINING SWINDLE. [Written for the Star Saturday Supplement by J.A.P.]

There was intense excitement in the can-vas-roofed mining exchange of Bungville one wet afternoon in July, For months and months the gold mines, Btuck away in odd inaccessible corners of the avalanche -scarred hills and gullies that surround Bungville, had with disheartening persistence withheld their auriferous treasures, and the woebegone faces of our two storekeepers, four publicans, and the bellman, to say nothing of the out-at-elbowed down-at-the-heel appearance of the sharebrokers, cardsharpers, and others of that indescribably heterogeneous class that go to make up the residuum of a new mining township, was sufficient evidence to convince the most hopeful Bungviller that matters were really at a very low ebb. Even jovial Jack Maggott, the President of the Stock Exchange, and director of the Lord knows how many worthless mining companies, was not proof against the wave of depression, and on the score of economy had left his room in the hotel, and was tuckering himself in a little hut of punga logs just next door to No. 15 Gladstone Esplanade. (Oh ! the grandiloquence of Little Peddlingtonisin). And No. 15 Gladstone Esplanade was the office of the "Bungville Banner and Cameron County Comet," of which, dear reader, the present writer, James Adolphus Plum, was the presiding genius— proprietor, editor, reporter, compositor, printer's devil, all rolled into one. Even now, though twenty years have passed over my head since those bizarre Bungville days, and though the touch ot old Father Time has thickened my moral epidermis, I can feel the blush rising to my cheek when I think of the barefaced manner in which the "Bungville tfanner" bolstered up, as a new El Dorado, that rotten worthless goldfield in winch my lot was for the time cast. About a year before the time at which my narrative commence.", the Magillacuddy Gold Mining and Quartz Crushiug Company had cut a fine leader, rich with the precious metal, so " hard to get and heavy to hold " ; but after it had turned out a few hundred ounces, the inevitable "slide" or fault of clay had crossed the leader, and the shot ot gold which had been to us Bungvillers like a ray of golden sunlight — like a Heaven sent promise of speedy prosperity — was cut off, and our hopes were blasted. How well I remember that on the strength of the Magillacuddy " find " I induced a confiding bootmaker to construct me a new pair of cowhide Bluchers, and ] how well I remember that the statute of limitations has long since freed me from the responsibility of that debt. But let that pass. The Magillacuddy directors soon spent all the little money they had in voting themselves liberal honoraria — yes, that's the word — and in searching for the lost shot of gold, and then all work was suspended. The directors of the adjoining rlaim, the Mulligatawny Gold Mining Company, however, were sanguine that the shot of gold was somewhere, and they kept making calls and pegging away. The model American pugilist, when overpowered by an antagonist of superior weight, is said to quietly lunch off his opponent's ear and wait for better times. And I have often thought that there is an analogy between this style of pugilism and the tactics of the Mulligatawny directors. They quietly lunched off the pockets of their too confiding brother shareholders, and Micawberised. They belonged to that class of heroes that want their country saved, but want someone else to save it I hope Jack Maggott and his co-directors will have a niche in the Temple of Fame— l hope it for old acquaintance' sake — but candour compels me to admit that I have very grave doubts on the subject. All this brings me up to the excitement on that bleak wet afternoon in July, which — the excitement, of course— as I wrote in my leading article in the next morning's "Banner," shook Bungville city to its centre. The great fact was first announced by a terse bulletin posted on the weatherbeaten notice board at the Stock Exchange, The characters on the dirty transfer form Bad evidently been traced by Jack Maggott's great hairy perpetually perspiring paw, and besides, the paper bore that worthy's unmistakable signature at the foot. The historic document was as follows :—: — NOTIS TO THE CITIZENS OF BUNGVILLE AN ELSEWHAR.

The derectur3 0£ The mulligatawny G.M. Company begs to anounce that the men worruking in No. 2 cross-cut cut the Magilacudy specimen lead at elevn o clock this morning. 60 pounds of specimens, and ritch gold in the face. Signed on behalf of the derecturs, John Maggott, Chareman. The big rain-drops pattered unnoticed and uncared-for on the heads of the Bungvillera as they read the hope-inspiring news. Shabby-looking citizens laughed for joy and congratulatory hand-phdkings were the order of the day. Jimmy Perrish, the bellman, sent the rust flying from his tintinabulator with a joyous and prolonged peal ; Charlie Poley , our local politician and orator-in-ordinary — whose wife, by the way, washed for the "boys," while Charlie moulded public opinion — mounted a barrel and made a speech ; and Darby Mynn, the proprietor of the Bungville Arms over the way, invited about thirty of us to his bar, and with true Hibernian munificence performed the operation technically known as "setting up drinks for the crowd." Mulligatawny shares rose from fourpence to a pound in the course of an hour. I was infected with the general excitement, and after, with some difficulty, effectinganother mortgage on the plant of the "Banner" with old Moses Abramß (who bought gold, and crushed stolen specimens on the sly — bad luck to him !), procured a iew oi the coveted scrip. That evening I was so excited that i could scarcely " set up " my glowing description of the events of that wonderful day. I sometimes found my fingers in the "a " box when I wanted an " m," while more than once I stopped woik altogether for several minutes, and built airy castles of future wealth. I would be able to pay my mortgages, take a room at Darby Flynns, and in other respects play the part of a bloated capitalist. Indeed, there was so much reverie and so little work that night that I was compelled to fill a large portion of the "Banner " that should have contained a continuation of the serial story, "Tomahawk the Hatchet- thrower, or The Skeleton's Revenge" with dummy advertisements, and a great long -leaded announcement, ADVERTISE IN THE " B A N N E R," AND YOU t WILL GROW RICH. The nexfc morning 30 or 40 of us puffed and perspired, and swore up the acclivitous

track leading to the Mulligatawny Mine. One by one we were lowered down the winze, barking our knees and chafing our hands during the process ; but we all felt rewarded. There was the leader of beautiful blue and white stone, as "kindly" as ever Cornish miner set eyes on this side of the Line, and right through the perpendicular strip of mottled quartz a broad band of golden stone could be seen. "We waited until some of the reef had been blasted, heard Jack Maggott announce thot "400 pounds of as purty spicimints as iver ye saw" had resulted from the "breaking down," and then wo rushed off, each man anxious to get to Buneville first with the welcome news. On the strength of this breaking down, shares went up another pound, and Bungville went into a state of whisky and maudlin joy. That evening our itinerant preacher held forth from the doorstep of the "Banner" office, and we were all mighty pleased. | The appearance of a clerical personage |on a goldfield is a sign of prosperity. Just as the love song of the cicada signals the approach of summer, or the croaking of the bull frog prognosticates coming rain, so does the appearance of a black surtout and a Avhite choker on a goldfield show that there is a chance of a little ready money circulating. And our black-coated herald of prosperity did remarkably good business on behalf of the poor little heathen that evening. Why, shares Avent up half-a-crown as soon as it became known that there was a parson in Bungville, and wouldn't it have been right down mean, not to say recklessly unthankful to Providence, if Jack Maggott and other large holders of Mulligatawnies had not como down handsome? As for me, I may say that I handed round the hat, and at this lapse of time I am not ashamed to write that that was all I did for the poor little heathen on that particular occasion.

Two days later Mulligatawnies stood at £5 4s 6d. That was the morning quotation from the Stock Exchange. They had steadily risen to that figure, and they now appeared to be stationary. In the afternoon the report of the brokers showed that they had receded to "£5. No buyers and sellers at that figure." What did it mean ? Only the day before a quarter of a ton of rich stone had been reported, with a good show left, and Jack Maggott told me that there had been no breaking down since. But it didn't seem all square somehow. Shares don't usually fall in price just after 5001 bs of specimens had been obtained. Oh no, Jack. I'm not so green as I'm cabbago looking. S'w'elp me ! Yes, blowed if I don't. I'll just slip up myself to-night, and see how things are getting on. Of course, I got up on Charlie Poley's barrel and intimated my intention to the whole of Bungville. I did— over the left. I just got my lines, and made believe I wa3 off to Slaughter-house Creek on an eelfishing expedition. So I told Jack, and smiled grimly to myself as I thought that if I caught him he would be the most slippery fish I had ever landed. Well, quite unseen by the festive Bungvillers. I got to the mine about 11 p.m., and, lighting a piece of candle, stole towards the winze on the shot of gold. There was apparently not a soul about, so I seized the rope that was hanging down the hole and was preparing to descend u hen I was electrified by the apparition of Jack Maggott's factotum, "Cornish Billy," a sinister-looking giant in moleskin trousers and a blue shirt. Billy promptly seized me by the collar, and having roughly "yanked " me back from the mouth of the winze, proceeded to swear at me in precise and finished style. " What the sanguinary infernal region's flames did I sanguinary well mean ? Condemn my sanguinary optics, what was I doing there ?" were some of the questions he put to me in his Cornish dialect, making threatening gestures the while. But there is a divinity that doth hedge a newspaper proprietor, which accounts for the fact that life insurance companies class them as first-class risks along with Russian emperors, Persian lolly men, and Irish landlords—and Billy did not hurt me much. Indeed, when he had cursed till his throat was dry, he condescended to take a pull out of my whisky flask, and was good enough to tell me that his sole reason for preventing me from going down to the winze was that it was full of poisonous gas, and that he would not like to see such a promising young man cut off " 'fore he'd carried forth hi 3 first stope." With tears of gratitude in my eyes I wrung Billy's hand, hailed him as my preserver, and handed him the flask again. My gratitude was so sincere and heartfelt that Irepeatedthelatter operation more than once, and soon Jack Maggott's right hand man was sleeping the sleep of the just, with his head on a piece of mining timber and his arm hugging fondly my empty flask. Now was my chance. Hastily dropping a match down the vvinze, and seeing it burn brightly to the bottom, I disposed summarily of the story of the gas, and a minute later, candle in hand, I was at the bottom I stretch out my hand. Yes, here is the reef. Let me follow it down. Here aro the two walls, well-defined, nice colours of gold showing — ruby, silver, and other "kindly" minerals in enormous quantities. " Well, Jim Plum. I'm thinking there's nothing wrong, and you've made a darned idiot of yourself." Down on my knees I go, closely scrutinising the leader close by. Here, three inches from the bottom of the winze, is some clay in the lodo. Hades and Thomas Didymus ! I'm right. There's a clay seam across the lode. Let me try the pick. Thud ! thud ! The blasted rogue. The leader's cut off. It was so. Below the minute clay seam there was nothing but soft mullock, and Mulliga tawnies, instead of being worth £5, were worth only as many shillings. The rest of my story is soon told. I sneaked back to town, sat up all night, and at 7.30 next morning got rid of my shares to a confiding new chum. Then t quietly " tipped the wink " to Darby and some more of my immediate chums, and at 11 o'clock issued an "extra "of the "Bungville Banner," describing the result of my surreptitious visit on the previous evening. Facilis clescensus Averni. £5, £4, £3, £2, £1, in the course of half-anhour, down they came with a speed as pitiless as fate ; and how I shook hands with myself when I subsequently found that Jack and his brother swindlers had been stuck with their shares, and instead of making their fortune, had actually lost money. I got lots of praise from the right-think-ing portion of the community for the part I had taken in the exposure of the Mulliga tawney swindle, and when, a few months later, Moses Abrams sold up the "plant, book debts, and good will " of the " Bungville Banner," and I consequently had to seek fresh fields, they presented me with an electro-plated tea-pot and an illuminated address. And that is the story of how the Mulligatawney scrip came down— every word of it true, I assure you.

" Yes," said Gubbins, with an air of conscious muscularity that would have done credit to the champion heavy-weight, "I carried a pick on this railway for three years." " Indeed," queried an ancient parson sitting opposite, "and did you not find it very labourious, sir ?" •• Very. It was a tooth-pick."