CHAPTER XVIII
TRIP IN SEARCH OF “EMERALD VALLEY”—FEVER AND FAILURE—BACK TO GORDONIA—SECOND TRIP TO BAK RIVER—“SOME GUN!”—THE PACK-COW—SURLY NATIVES—“ROUGHING IT.”
One of our greatest disappointments in the Kalahari had been our failure to reach the pan of “bright green stones,” which we believed to be emeralds, and when on my return to Cape Town I found a man awaiting me who claimed to have found a rich deposit of them in Portuguese East Africa, I decided to fill in the time of waiting the Government’s decision as to my desert discoveries by making a dash for “Emerald Valley.”
Rumour as to the existence of this valley has for many years been current amongst prospectors and mining men in the Barberton district, and many a man has heard the tale in Johannesburg. It is alleged that a party of Boers, hunting on the Portuguese side of the Lebombo Mountains, which form the boundary between Portuguese territory and the North-Eastern Transvaal, came upon some ancient workings which they failed to penetrate, owing to noxious gas; but that at the mouth of one they found skeletons, and with the bones a small skin bag full of rough emeralds. They got away with the stones, which fetched a large sum in Europe, but for some unexplained reason were never able to reach the spot again.
My merchant, who had a small rough emerald to help his tale, claimed to have found the spot again, and wanted to make a dash for it from the Transvaal side of the Sabi Game Reserve; but as it was in Portuguese territory, I would only undertake the trip with a proper licence from the Portuguese.As the upshot of negotiations, within a month of leaving the desert I was on my way to Delagoa Bay, accompanied by Telfer, another white miner from Johannesburg, and the “discoverer.” We had been prepared for a certain amount of delay, as all must expect in dealing with Portuguese officials, but it was only after three most exasperating months of expense and waiting that we eventually crossed the Incomati River, a fully equipped expedition, armed with a “Special Mining Licence” and all the necessary permits for carrying out our purpose. And two months later three of us staggered out of the swamps more dead than alive, the fourth, the “discoverer,” having utterly failed us early in the search, and having made his way back into British territory after a terrific carousal, and when he found there would be no more liquor as long as he remained with us.
We had been some months too late, and the rains had caught us in the swamps, whence native women eventually carried out the remnants of our once fine equipment. We were full of fever, bitten nearly to death by the swarms of mosquitoes, and practically penniless; and altogether the trip was one long disaster. Yet, though the man who took us there was a drunkard and utterly unreliable, I still believe that there was some foundation for his tale, and that “Emerald Valley” may yet make the fortune of a better planned and luckier expedition. Telfer, who had had a rough time in the Kalahari, collapsed with fever as soon as we reached Delagoa, and had to remain there. Shadford, my other companion, and I got back to Johannesburg, where he developed blackwater fever, and lay in a hotel for days in a desperate state, whilst I tramped from office to office in an attempt to raise the necessary finances for the opening of a water-route to the Kalahari pans—when once Government had made up its mind to allow of such a thing!
Meanwhile I found a large accumulation of letters awaiting me—several of them months old—andamongst them a number urging me to return to Upington, where several options on supposed diamond properties were now obtainable. More, a wire reporting my return from Portuguese territory elicited the news that a new and reliable guide to “Brydone’s diamonds” had materialised at Upington, and that if I did not secure him pretty quick, others would do so, and “jump” the rich mine near the Bak River, for which I had already had a try (see Chapter XII).
Altogether there were a good many reasons why a rapid return to the vicinity of the Kalahari was desirable, for in spite of the delay in obtaining the fruit of our desert trip, we could not conceive that we should eventually be “turned down” by the Government. Ministers and Secretaries were away stumping or holiday-making, and I could not wait in Johannesburg till their return. I had obtained the promise of the requisite finances for the water-route when the time came; meanwhile, however, it would be better not to neglect new opportunities, and, thanks to the help of certain staunch friends, I was soon on my way once more to the region of sand and t’samma.
This was on November 1st, 1913. Ever since early in June I had been living a life of constant worry, anxiety, and hardship which had made me look back with regret to those lonely dunes of the Kalahari, where at least there were no crocodiles, few mosquitoes, and less fever, and where the absence of water seemed rather an advantage when fresh from the sodden, steaming marshes of the Incomati and Lebombo.
Telfer was still down with fever at Delagoa Bay, and Shadford, a wreck of the strong man he had been, in a like case in Johannesburg, whilst even I, fever-salted as I had considered myself, had turned yellow to the whites of my eyes, shook periodically with fits of ague that threatened to lose me all the teeth the t’samma had left, and had to live principally on quinine. A week later I was back in Gordonia,where the dry air and glorious sunshine of the finest climate in the world soon drove away the effect of the “emerald picnic.”
At Upington I found that the “guide” who claimed to know the way to the cave and hollow mountain of Brydone’s story near the Bak River was a certain trooper in the C.M.P. named Trollip, a gigantic chap of about 6 ft. 3 ins., who had been through the country in question at the latter end of the Hottentot rebellion. Trekking back from German territory, he had passed through a celebrated gorge known as “Oorlogs Kloof” (Battle Kloof), and thence through the wild hills I have described in Chapter XII, and a Hottentot guide had pointed out a certain mountain as being the place “where the diamonds were.”
This was by no means the precise information I had been led to expect from the wires and letters I had received; still, I was convinced that I had been hot upon the trail on my previous trip, and jumped at the chance of following up this additional clue.
The native who had showed Trollip the spot could not be found, though we rode over half Gordonia looking for him, but a Bastard who had been also one of the party with Trollip in the mountains was induced to accompany us; and, the police trooper himself having obtained leave of absence, on November 22nd I again set out for the Great Falls and the German Border.
In addition to Trollip and the Bastard (Carl van Rooy by name), I had with me a young half-breed Hottentot named Gert, who had been with me in the Kalahari, and a friend from Upington named Ford-Smith, who wanted to see the Falls, try a new-fangled American repeating shot-gun, which acted like a pump and was almost as elegant, and incidentally bring back a few diamonds himself.
By a variety of conveyances, horses, Cape cart, ox-cart, etc., we got to the Great Falls, which I looked at with more interest than ever since I hadheard that the Union Government intended utilising their enormous power in the near future. We stayed a day near the Great Cataract, partly to further explore its terrific gorges, and partly because our horses had got away in the night and gone into the mountains to look for grass, and whilst waiting for them, Carl, the guide, gave us an exhibition of fancy shooting which I would not have missed for anything. He first of all asked me if I had Martini cartridges, which I had. He then produced from the bottom of the cart the weirdest weapon I have ever seen, which is saying a good deal; for in this wild part of South Africa it is no uncommon thing to find rifles and guns of ancient make that, having been broken and patched and cobbled with raw hide, nails, tacks, wire, and solder, in the most extraordinary manner, are yet capable of doing excellent work in the hands of their owners, who know their little peculiarities.
But van Rooy’s was the limit! It had been a Martini, one of the old, long, straight-stocked ones, that kick like a mule; but one day it had fallen off a waggon and a wheel had passed over it, breaking the stock and bending the barrel almost double. Thrown away as beyond repair, it had been rescued by Carl, who had long coveted a rifle (as every man on the Border does), and who had determined to repair it. The stock he had carved from an old ox-yoke, and the barrel was fastened to it with a combination of all the home-made devices mentioned above; but the crowning feat had been the straightening of the barrel, which he had accomplished by making it red-hot and hammering it.
The result was startling, for not only was it battered and dented badly by the hammer, but the foresight was a good eighth of an inch out of alignment with the back; in fact it curved to such an extent that it suggested an attempt at a weapon designed to shoot round corners.
I could not conceive that anyone would have the temerity to try and shoot with it, but Carl wasimmediately on his dignity when I said so, and wanted to know what was the matter with his gun. He said, moreover, that the hills were full oftijgers, and unless he could have cartridges for that gun he wouldn’t go a step farther; moreover he wanted some practice, as he had rarely tried the gun since he “straightened” it.
It appeared like aiding and abetting suicide, but at last I gave him them, and we scattered for cover, whilst he lay down and let her go. There was a most terrific bang, and I wondered what the coroner would say, but Carl was still there, though at least three yards back from where he had first fired, rubbing his shoulder thoughtfully. But he was no funk, and with half a dozen shots had found out what allowance to make for the kink, and could hit a bottle at a hundred yards. And Ford-Smith, himself a “weapon fancier,” and usually festooned with all sorts of weird shooting-irons, thereupon recognised him as a kindred spirit, and was soon swapping shooting yarns with this valiant gunner. He told Smith, if I remember rightly, that at a hundred yards he had to aim two yards to the right and two feet below the object, and I wondered how he would figure it out if a leopard charged him from a quarter that distance!
Next day, at Wag Brand, we had again to abandon our carts, packing sheer necessities upon two of the horses, and carrying a heavy load ourselves as we pushed forward along the pathless and precipitous slopes of the gorge, through which ran the Orange, and scarcely expecting to get the horses through. Within a few hundred yards of the start we had already come to grief, though luckily the accident was more ludicrous than serious.
For in negotiating a granite shoulder smoothly sloping into the water, the old white horse that was leading missed his footing, scrambled wildly as though on skates, reared up and fell with a terrible splash into the muddy water. His pack had been roped on with a long coil of Manila, and in his franticstruggles this came loose and he was soon tangled up like a fish in a net, and it looked like losing both him and our precious pack. I jumped in with a knife and slashed his pack away, and we got both out farther down. And then we stood and laughed till the baboons came out on the rocky peaks and hooted us, for the poor old horse was the most ridiculous-looking object imaginable. He had been white before he fell in, now he looked like an equine rainbow.
Part of his multitudinous load had been a bag of yellow sugar from Upington. I do not pretend to know what it was dyed with, or why it should have been dyed at all, but all one side of him was a deep mustard yellow; a box of permanganate of potash crystals had tinted most of the rest of him from rose pink to deep purple; and a ball of washing-blue, which the only fastidious member of the party had brought, to be able to wash his shirts a nice colour, had completed the picture.
Of course a good deal of our scanty stores were utterly spoiled, and it meant short commons for the trip, but we were lucky to have saved anything, and were thankful for small mercies.
With great caution we successfully negotiated the rest of the bad places, and came to the mouth of the Molopo, whence the going was easy. Lower down, by a lovely stretch of placid water, and opposite the huge red mountain known as “Zee-coe-stuk,” we found a number of Hottentots andBeeste Damaraswith sheep, goats, and cattle, which Trollip shrewdly suspected had been stolen, for the few natives amongst these wild hills are vagrants and thieves, mostly descendants of the old free-booters who made this part of the Orange their fastness during the last century, or fugitives from justice. They were surly and suspicious, and would undoubtedly have liked to plunder the lot of us, but we were all well armed, and when they saw the quick-firing section and heavy artillery of Smith and Carl, they became quite civil. From them wesucceeded in hiring a pack-cow, which lightened our load considerably, the old dear trotting along ahead of us in the most willing manner, climbing like a cat over rocks and stones, and with a half-grown calf running behind her.
LuggageA BREAKDOWN ON THE ROAD FROM PRIESKA.Showing washing-machine, sieves, stores, etc. Note the canvas water-bag.
A BREAKDOWN ON THE ROAD FROM PRIESKA.Showing washing-machine, sieves, stores, etc. Note the canvas water-bag.
A BREAKDOWN ON THE ROAD FROM PRIESKA.
Showing washing-machine, sieves, stores, etc. Note the canvas water-bag.
WashingWASHING FOR DIAMONDS AT THE BASE OF THE ESCARPMENT AT NAKOB.The rotary washing-machine is in the background.
WASHING FOR DIAMONDS AT THE BASE OF THE ESCARPMENT AT NAKOB.The rotary washing-machine is in the background.
WASHING FOR DIAMONDS AT THE BASE OF THE ESCARPMENT AT NAKOB.
The rotary washing-machine is in the background.
A day later we were in the deep gorge of the Bak River, where we succeeded in getting both horses and cow to our old camping-place of Chapter XII. Apparently no human foot had trod those wild ravines since last I had been there with Paul and Borcherds, though higher up, where the German patrol-path crossed into our territory, there were signs that these gentlemen visited this remote part of the border more frequently than of yore. And the very next day we saw two troopers cross the ridge a mile or so away from us, and a tiny watch-fire in the mountains that night made us surmise that we had been seen, and that Hottentot police trackers had been left to watch us. So we did our searching with great circumspection, though we had often to penetrate German territory for some distance.
It soon became evident that neither van Rooy nor Trollip knew as much about the region as I did myself, and the only result of bringing them was to have a mountain pointed out that the other native had said that he had heard was the place where the diamonds were to be found (for here on the spot the precise information of both of them boiled down to that extent), and the identification of a huge gorge leading north-west into German territory as the famous “Oorlogs Kloof” of which I had heard so much.
Meanwhile, I acknowledge, both men made up for lack of knowledge by willingness to be of assistance, and from daylight till dark we clambered precipitous peaks, groped in caves and cañons, sifted the sand of gullies and gorges, till our hands were torn almost as badly as our boots and clothes. But still the place we sought could not be found, although there was proof forthcoming that somewhere in the vicinitypipe Kimberlite existed. The complexity of the ravines, and the sand-choked nature of many, made the following-up of these indications extremely tedious work, especially as many of the ravines led into German territory, and we had to keep a sharp lookout in case we were observed. My friend Smith, whose feet gave in after a few excursions, usually stayed about the camp with a gun handy; for one day, when he had accompanied us along a sandy ravine for some distance, he found, in turning back, that a big leopard spoor had covered his own for most of the distance, the wily animal having evidently followed him, barely keeping out of sight! By the number of spoors in some of the ravines, the place fully merits its reputation for thesetijgers, who are, however, so wily, and whose tawny coats harmonise so well with the red and yellow sandstone and deep shadow of the rocks, that, when standing motionless even a short distance away, it is almost impossible to see them till they move. We were well off for water, but soon ran short of supplies, and lived principally on klip-springer and rock rabbits (dassies).
At last Trollip’s leave was up and he had to return, and with him went Ford-Smith and Carl, leaving the boy Gert and myself alone. As the horses went with them we sent most of our heavy stuff back, and retained the barest necessities: but with rifles, water, and a box of matches we were perfectly independent of everybody. And then the search really began, for we were both far more active than the men who had left us, willing as they had been, and we worked northward into what had once been tributary streams for long distances, until I had proof positive that at no very great distance higher up a diamond pipe, probably a whole group of pipes, did exist.
Whether the “long arm of coincidence” alone was responsible for the writer Brydone having placed a rich mine in these hills many years before, or whether, as I still believe, the yarn had been foundedupon an actual happening, I still cannot say; but I repeat there was now no doubt that in the near vicinity there was a mine.
We were not sure whether it would prove to be on British territory or German; certainly, however, it would be perilously near dwellings and on private property, and could only be searched for and located by a further expedition having permission to search such private lands.
When we arrived at this conclusion we were absolutely at the end of our stores, a small tin of Symington’s Pea Flour, a pot of jam, and two tins of sardines being all that was left of the edibles. However, there were rope, tools, pots, and various gear, and Gert left me to go back to the Hottentots up the river, to bring back the pack-cow that had brought us there.
He brought it back a day or two later with the owner, who was surly when he found our tobacco and coffee were finished, and who wanted to clear off again and leave us to hump the things ourselves. However, he was “persuaded” not to do so, our things were packed on the cow, and we started our long walk back. My boots were literally in shreds, and my feet badly cut and bleeding, and as nearly the whole of the journey was over sharp rocks, I was in a terrible state by the time I got to “Zee-coe-stuk,” where the Hottentots’ encampment was. These people were now insolent to a degree; they demanded tobacco and coffee, and would not believe we had none. Gert showed them our kit, and the cow was unpacked and led away to rest and feed, but they were still derisive, and as there were a round dozen of them, and we were two, it looked as though there might be trouble. We were on a high, well-wooded bank, above a very deep part of the river, and Gert (who of course spoke Hottentot) said that they were openly discussing rushing us, and throwing us into the turbulent, rushing torrent. On the opposite bank, on the lower slopes of the mountain, which came almost sheer into the water, were a troop ofbig baboons, and this gave me an idea which probably saved bloodshed.
They—the baboons—were about 300 yards away, four of them on a big rock at the edge of the water, and I gave them a magazineful in rapid succession. The second shot hit the rock in the centre of the group, and, “mushrooming,” flew into flinders, which knocked all four of the bigbaviaansinto the river, but I sent the remaining bullets amongst the others higher up, just for effect. I got the effect all right, for turning, I saw Gert, who had my short Martini carbine and was watching the Hottentots, almost doubled up with laughter, and the Hottentots running towards the rocks as fast as their legs would carry them. And in the rocks they stayed, and when the hour came for us to trek, there was neither Hottentot nor pack-cow. Gert went and parleyed with the women in thepondhoeks, but they could do nothing except demand coffee andtabaki, and the gentlemen up in the rocks evidently thought they had the whip hand, as we could go no farther without the cow. I got Gert to shout to them that if the cow was not brought back, we would go, and they merely laughed, doubtless thinking that the pack we should have to abandon would fall into their thieving hands. But I was determined otherwise. We made all essentials into two packets of about 60 lb. each, principally samples of ammunition and expensive prospecting gear, and the pots, tools, cords, and heavy impedimenta we very reluctantly but determinedly flung into the water.
As we were hidden by the thick trees, this procedure could not be seen by the Hottentots, and humping the remainder of our gear, we stole quietly away.
I suppose, with our rifles, etc., we had each about 60 lb. only, but the heat was very great, the silt beside the river, where our path lay, was heavy and intersected by numerous gullies, and within an hour I was quite prepared to throw the remainder into the Orange; but just as I had put the load down for about the twentieth time we heard a shout, and theold cow came lumbering along with several of our late friends behind it. I ordered them back, except the driver, and as they saw me ram a magazineful of cartridges into my Mannlicher, they again performed “Home to the Mountains.”
The rest of that day I walked as I had never walked before, occasionally tearing up a fresh strip from my scanty garments to bind afresh my feet, which were jagged and torn by sharp stones and pricked with thorns till every step was anguish. By night we were at Wag Brand, the old cow having made light of the bad rocks where our old horse had fallen in on the outward journey.
We had hoped to find a few natives here, but thepondhoekwas empty, and we could not even borrow a pot to make a little mealie pap from the tiny remainder of our meal and pea-flour. We made a few cakes on the embers, and slept like logs. In the morning we were desperately hungry, and though we had set night-lines, there were no fish on them. We could hear guinea-fowl and pheasant calling everywhere in the dense wood, but could not see them. At last Gert put a bullet through a pheasant, blowing it to bits, which we managed to roast on the embers, and a very toughhors-d’œuvreit proved. The Hottentot demanded food—not without reason; and on our telling him he would get some at Waterfal that night, if there happened to be any people there, he demanded his money and proposed returning. He had had more than his share of the pheasant, including the liver wing, and as I did not wish to be unjust, I gave him the only handful of meal left. This left me with about a tea-cup of pea-flour and a fragment of rusty bacon about 2 inches square to last us two days’ hard trek to Miller’s store at North Furrow, Kakamas, should we fail to shoot anythingen route. But that Hottentot was a perfect Oliver Twist. He madeasch-kookof the meal and devoured it, whilst we sat and partook of the smell. And then he demanded more! I told him to pack the cow and trek, and if he were luckyhe would get something at Waterfal that night. Then, being full of good hot meal, he got cheeky and thrust his Mongol face in mine in a way that could have but one ending. So I knocked him down, three times to be exact, whereupon he became most cheerful, and drove the old cow towards the Great Falls in fine style. We were there by sunset, and I took the boy Gert to see the Cataract, being a bit dubious of the first stream, but traversing it quite safely. The Great Fall itself was more awe-inspiring than ever at sunset, and Gert was so impressed that I had great difficulty in getting him to cross the stream on our way back—he could not swim.
There was not a soul at the Falls, and we could shoot nothing, and short as was the distance, what with the heat and the state of my feet, it took us all next day to get to the store at Krantz Kop, Kakamas North Furrow. We had an alleged meal at midday by the river, where Gert caught a small barbel the size of a herring. It was full of bones and tasted vilely, but with the aid of the pea-flour, and the bacon frizzled on a prospecting shovel, we ate it, bones and all.
We got to the store in the evening. I was literally in rags, and with barely enough of myveldtschoenuppers left to hold together the blood-stained rags on my feet.
At the store I found friends, the magistrate, bank manager, and lawyer from Upington, who were on their way to the Great Falls; though I still believe they had a sneaking idea of making a desperate dash into the Noup Hills themselves to try and get hold of my mine!
Anyhow, there they were, prepared for “roughing it” in great style. They had a waggon crammed with provisions, on the top of which they had stretched several mattresses and at least one feather-bed. They had several riding-horses as well, and the capacious vehicle was overflowing with every kind of eatable and drinkable. They had immaculate white suits and big pith helmets, and altogetherquite put my poor old cow and myself in the shade.
I was most anxious to get back to Upington, but they inveigled me into returning with them to the Falls, and so for a few days I played at “roughing it” with them, and found it far from unpleasant after so much of the real thing. I paid my cow-driver exactly what I had agreed to, which astonished him, and he there and then declared his willingness to take my pack right on the 200-odd miles to the railway at Prieska, or, for the matter of that, to Cape Town if needs be! And he was quite hurt when I refused, but soon recovered under the stimulating effect of a visit to the store, where he bought tobacco, and sugar, and coffee, and golden syrup, and “Pain Killer” to his heart’s content, leaving on the home track with a pack almost as big as he had brought out.