We got out and stood ankle-deep in the warm sand. I cursed Duvenhage inwardly, although I admitted to myself it was hard to think of our relaxed companion as the same man as my formidable opponent in the yacht's cabin. I tried to keep out of the conversation. Shelborne picked up a big horn-shaped shell, weighing it in his hand.
'I saw these here four years before Merensky.'
MacDonald gasped. 'You were here before Merensky?'
'Yes. Caldwell and I camped right here.'
Mary said, 'Tell me about those early days with my father. Did he really find diamonds here before the Oyster Line? Did he know it was a major strike? Is the legend true?'
Shelbome said softly: 'If he didn't actually prove it before his luck called him away, at least he guessed. More than guessed. You see, we had our next trip to Oranjemund all planned. Our first big find here had made it possible — a beautiful 16 1/2 — carat stone, a pure blue-white, which we took from the surface just over there.' (He pointed to a spot about a hundred yards away.) 'It was enough to finance our next journey.' He shrugged. 'You know the rest. Caldwell's usual destiny. When he came back later there were 1000 claims pegged, and Merensky had taken a fortune from a small trench at the start of the Oyster Line.'
'You returned with my father?'
He said with strange sadness: 'Yes, I was always with Caldwell.'
MacDonald interrupted. 'What are you looking for, Mr Shelborne? I want still to show you something of the new prospecting area, but we won't have time if we hang around here.'
'Come,' said Shelborne. We trailed through heavy sand to the crest of the dune. 'There it is. I'm glad they didn't disturb it.'
There was a small cairn about fifty yards away.
'My wife's grave.'
'My God!' exclaimed MacDonald. 'You didn't bring a woman up here in the old days!'
'I did. For nearly forty years now I have regretted it.'
'You mean to say,' said Mary, 'that your wife died here while, you and my father were prospecting? You didn't leave her alone…'
He went to her side with a curious affectionate gesture. 'No, my dear. It was only a short, three-day trip with your father. She had a tent and plenty of water and supplies. Of course, there wasn't a thing here then. It was desert, nothing but unadorned desert. When we came back we found her dead and the babe gone.'
'Baby? There was a baby too?… How?'
'Mary had been shot and the camp looted. There must have been more than one of them, whoever murdered her, for there were a lot of tracks, human and horses', leading away into the desert. The little boy was gone.'
'Didn't you look for him…?'
'He wasn't very old, maybe eight or nine months. We searched, of course, but we never found the body. It haunts me still. Maybe a strandwolf…'
MacDonald was shaken too by Shelborne's story, and asked him if he wanted to go over to the grave. Shelborne said yes.
'I'll wait here,' Mary said.
'So will I,' I murmured. Despite everything, I found myself drawn to Shelborne. Deep down, I respected him for his refusal, and his curious air of inner power fascinated me. We watched the two trudge down the dune towards the forlorn cairn.
'By comparison, it makes my being born in a train seem pretty civilized,' she said. The amber flecks in her eyes were blurred with tears. I noticed for the first time a tiny vein close to the surface of the skin between the bridge of her nose and right eyebrow. Later I came to recognize it as a signal flag of her emotions.
I gave a short laugh. 'That puts me nowhere. I don't know where I was born, or who my parents were, even.'
She put her hand on my arm. For the first time I was aware of her warmth. 'John Tregard…'
I'd lived with it too long to be unduly concerned. Tregard was a missionary — in these parts, actually, south of the big bend in the Orange River in the Richtersveld — and you know what that means. He thought there were a lot of souls in need of salvation among the Hottentot gangs. He adopted me after finding me running wild.'
'And your parents?'
'It was pretty rough up here then. I haven't a clue who they were. The Tregards were kind — while they lasted. Then the usual pattern: orphanage, Sunday visits out to kind old ladies, fight for education — you know, it's been repeated a thousand times.'
'But only once for John Tregard, and that's what counts.'
That's a strange thing to say.'
'Now you're a surveyor, a skilled professional.'
I smiled at her defence of me. All the penniless years, the frantic fight for schooling, the dreary digs, the endless study — somehow it all seemed worth while then.
'I got there in the end.'
'I'd guess sooner, not later.'
'I was the youngest graduate of my year at Cape Town University.'
She said impetuously, 'I hope the Mazy Zed wins — for your sake.'
'I'm a freelance…' I started to say, but she broke in.
'You're a loner, aren't you, both in your job — and in yourself.'
I shrugged, but it made me feel good to tell her, none the less. 'You heard the John Tregard story.'
She said slowly, 'I thought you seemed pretty intense in court, especially today. I'd say this was more than a job to you.'
I was back in the Gquma's cabin. I was seeing that name engraved deeply on the ornate butt of the Borchardt. It was her father. I could not bring myself to tell her.
I said lightly, 'I'm the sort of John the Baptist of the outfit — the one who goes before.'
She wasn't deceived. 'What you mean is that at the first opportunity you'll strike out for Mercury…'
'And Strandloper's Water.'
She turned seawards and wrinkled her eyes against the sun, as if seeking an answer out across the white-green water.
'Why? Why should I?' she demanded, coming close to me. 'Why should I accept Shelborne's account of my father's death…? Yet I do.'
I told her about Shelborne's flat rejection of our offer aboard the cutter, not the rest.
'I would have sold. I… I like him — I like you both.'
'I don't believe his story of your father's death,' I said flatly.
'Yes, but why, even if you don't, should you involve yourself in something which can't possibly do any good, whichever way you look at it?'
I could not have answered her very explicitly at that stage myself. If Atacama and Takla Makan rang for me, then Mercury and Strandloper's Water were like those old-time wreckers' bells placed on the rocks to draw the victim's ship, although he himself might be fairly sure of his position. I had to go.
She said, 'You didn't approach me with an offer.'
'You heard what Shardelow said: for the purposes of the Mazy Zed application we are treating you as one.'
She didn't reply, but went on staring at me with a curious, searching look. I took refuge in words. 'You didn't make much of your case, did you? You let him get away with all the handwriting doubts and didn't press him about Strandloper's Water.'
'Strandloper's Water again,' she echoed.
I wanted to be out of that quiet, deep scrutiny. I bent down and picked up a handful of sand, letting it trickle through my fingers. She squatted down next to me. 'The sand — it holds so many secrets: my father, Shelborne, the woman they killed over there, the baby. You don't think Shelborne told the truth about my father?'
She had to know what I felt: 'I believe he extracted the cession and then murdered him.'
'No! no! He wouldn't have, not him…'
'Maybe simply left him to die in the dunes.'
'He is not that sort of man…'
'Listen,' I said harshly, thinking of the Borchardt, 'Shelborne is tough, mighty tough. But I admit there's a lot more to him than mere toughness. There's that spark, that "beyond the ranges" spark, which I cannot put my finger on. I admit that I cannot reconcile that side of him with what I've just said. There's a kindliness, too — but the fascination is that — that…'
'Adventurer of the s
pirit.'
'Yes, yes, that's it. There's a sort of mortification of the body about him, he endures in order to humble the body — deliberately — in some greater cause.'
'Lawrence of Arabia's camel ride.'
'Shelborne's Atacama. Shelborne's Takla Makan.'
'Shelborne's Namib.'
She, too, let the sand run through her fingers, the only break in our long silence. Then she ended it abruptly with a curious gesture to the north, which in my hypersensitive frame of mind I took to include Mercury and its dangers, the evil of which Shelborne had spoken, and — wonderfully — a care within herself for me.
Her words did not cover the compass of her gesture. 'I like Shelborne and I like you — it's as if I were falling back on… on… a bond already forged. But put diamonds on the table, and we're fighting like a pack of dogs.'
I replied drily, 'It happens. Look at your father and Shelborne.'
The two men were returning. She stood up, looking down at me. I can still see her. 'For God's sake be careful when you go near Mercury, John.'
I looked up at her. I said nothing.
'For my sake too, John.'
Shelborne and MacDonald came within earshot. I don't think either she or I heard much of MacDonald's expositions of diamond mining, from prospecting trenches to sweeping out potholes with brooms for the precious stones, — we were as silent as the great machines which, electric-powered, tear away soundlessly at the desert. The power is fed in in the face of immense technical difficulties: salt, corrosion, salt fogs, distance, sand, but they have all been beaten by the backroom boys of Oranjemund.
We returned to our security-hedged fortress as dark was falling.
Next day the tension in the courtroom was heightened by a late start. Shelborne sat drawn and haggard, his faded clothes carefully pressed. Mary, elegant in black suit and small hat, said a brief word to me and hurried past. Rhennin was glum after a long session the previous night with Shardelow.
'Silence in court!'
Mr Justice de Villiers gave full weight to the drama, walking slowly to the bench, inclining his head gravely to Shardelow, Mennin and the rest of us.
He sat down and said briefly: 'Mr Shelborne, I shall not require to re-examine you, as I had thought earlier.
There is nothing more to be gained by questioning Miss Caldwell further either.'
He paused meaningfully and consulted some notes.
Shardelow whispered, The bastard! Every time he plays that trick I get a new ulcer!'
The Judge said in formal tones: 'The court has before it the application of Frederick Shelborne, prospector, for the maintenance of rights granted and ceded to him by Frederick William Caldwell, prospector, in 1930 in pursuance of a German Imperial Decree vesting those rights in Mr Caldwell in 1913. The court finds there is no reason to doubt the authenticity of the document submitted by Mr Shelborne.'
'Christ!' muttered Rhennin to me. 'Listen to his tone. Here we go for a ride!'
Shardelow muttered urgently: 'You'll appeal, of course?'
Rhennin nodded. It looked as if the gamble had paid off for Shelborne. We'd fight, of course, and perhaps come to terms; one of those neat out-of-court settlements when counsel, bland and suave with extra fees, announce that the parties have mutually agreed…
'The court, however, cannot accept the deed of cession. There are serious discrepancies…'
Rhennin said under his breath, 'Will the girl sell, John?'
'Yes, she said she would. She'll take Ј5000 any day.'
Rhennin passed my message on to Shardelow. Mary was white-faced. The shadows round her eyes, skilfully concealed by make-up, were visible nevertheless — under the courtroom lights, which were on because the sea fog was still down. The courtroom felt cold and alien to me.
'Look at the old man,' said Rhennin quietly.
Shelborne leaned forward, and to the top of his bald head his colour was like lead. His hands were twitching and he coughed — a sharp, rattling, nervous cough.
'The court has heard the application of the organization which styles itself the Mazy Zed, an odd name. Unfortunately the court has no jurisdiction over the naming of companies. I find it is duly registered…'
'Thank God for that!' Rhennin whispered to me. 'He'd have called us the Undermarine Octahedron Exploration Company!'
'The court is called upon to assess the value of the present application in terms of a past concession. I note there is no pro forma application by either of the other two parties in respect of present-day rights. After the First World War the South African Government allowed certain German diamond companies to continue mining in the territory. In law, however, such an ex parte dispensation cannot be construed as allowing of the reverse, namely, that the grant of a prospecting concession by the previous German regime should have force and effect in law.'
'Jesus!' exclaimed Rhennin softly. He was sweating, despite the coldness of the court. The pendulum had swung back to our side; small wonder Shardelow had ulcers.
The Treaty of Versailles, to which the then South African Government under General Smuts was signatory, makes no mention of this. No principle is laid down by either the treaty proper or by subsequent codicils.'
Rhennin pushed me a note from Shardelow. It read: 'I want a blue-white, five carats, first one out of the sea as a memento — and no charge!'
I nodded and grinned. It was practically in the bag now.
The validity of the concession submitted by the first applicant, namely, Frederick Caldwell, is therefore irrelevant…'
Shelborne was on his feet, his face livid. He was trying to say something. Everyone's eyes were upon him.
The Judge went on. 'I beg your pardon, a slip of the tongue. The first application was in the name of Frederick Shelborne. I ask the recorder to take special note: Frederick Shelborne, not Frederick William Caldwell.'
Shelborne sank back into his chair, his eyes staring.
'Likewise the second application, that of Mary Caldwell, fails. The German concession, in the eyes of myself and of my two learned assessors, lapsed when the armed forces of Germany signed the surrender to General Botha's army in July 1915.
There remains only the Mazy Zed application. This not only has the scope, but is in accordance with certain prerequisites of capital and outlay specified by the authorities. The Mazy Zed application is accordingly granted. May I take this opportunity of wishing the venture — a unique venture in the history of mining — success.'
I went that afternoon with MacDonald to Anvil Creek. He had been assigned to make sure that Shelborne and the Gquma left the security area. I waited in the parked Land-Rover while he made his search. It did not surprise me when he came back empty-handed, without the Borchardt or its diamonds. I had not mentioned either to MacDonald — I felt it was something between Shelborne and myself. Shelborne spoke neither to him nor to me. Then, with almost frightening skill, he tacked the beautiful cutter down the narrow waterway to the river proper. He sat, hard-faced, in the open cockpit at the tiller; we followed him in our vehicle along the river bank to the sandbars, where the spindrift broke over us on the wind. The Gquma, head reaching on the starboard tack, merged her white sails in the white of broken water and bars at the river mouth. Would she live? For more than an hour we watched and wondered. Then, against the green of the sea; we saw the topsail emerge, a sail as unmistakably individual as the lonely man who sailed her. Round she came, close-hauled, and disappeared to the north.
5
'Don't Tread on Me'
Eighteen months later the Mazy Zed was no longer a project of models and blueprints but a reality of ships and men.
The mining barge had been launched in Table Bay. Cape brandy for the launch. Flags, bunting, sirens. Ministerial speeches. Unique project, unique undertaking. Spirit of adventure. Unique ship: not another like it afloat. Planning, fitting-out, machinery, — machinery, more and more specialized machinery. Pumps, hoses, pumps, pumps. Refitting and strengthening the tug which was
to nursemaid the odd craft. Tow-wires, special heavy winches, tougher cables. Breaking strain tests off the Cape of Storms in a gale. Curses, bruises, broken fingers, seas streaming across unprotected decks, life-lines rigged. A bitch of a ship. She looked like a block of flats and rolled like a whore. Mazy Zed. The Mazy Zed. She was headlines from the moment she was conceived.
I was busy on my own ship. Before the Oranjemund court hearing I had taken an option on an old South African Hydrographic Survey vessel, formerly an Antarctic whaler. The Southern Floe was old, whalers don't grow old like other ships. Her 1850 horsepower triple expansion engines wouldn't give the sixteen knots of her prime, but she was still good for a couple less and with new sealed casings for reducing their noise, she sounded sweeter than she really was. Just over 400 tons, she had high rounded bows and a cruiser stern. It was the marked flare of her bows and the squat way she sat in the water which gave me her name — the Praying Mantis. The mantis is the sacred good-luck bringer of the Namib Bushmen: we'd need all the luck for the Mazy Zed venture.
The navy had left some of its obsolete surveying equipment in the ship, and it was thrown in with the bargain basement price of Ј3000. My plans for a quick victory over the Sperrgebiet coast centred, however, on a special electronic instrument, developed recently in South Africa, known as the Hydrodist. The echo-sounder barely passed muster, while the superb American Sonoprobe, which gives a sort of X-ray picture of the ocean floor, was outside my resources. I was glad they'd left the crow's nest and heavy rigging on the foremast, which would assist me to con her through the shoals and rocks. It took me nearly six months to get the Praying Mantis ready for sea. I went ahead of the main outfit to Angras Juntas on a lesson-filled shake-down cruise and returned to Cape Town two months later with a detailed survey and a deep respect for the coast.
The River of Diamonds Page 6