Luck at the Diamond Fields

by Dalrymple J. Belgrave

“If what we know is found out, we shall never be able to buy at a reasonable price,” he said, as they smoked their pipes after supper on the night before the day on which they intended to wash.

“Nobody does as yet, and even we don’t know much,” said Hardman; “wait till we have washed.”

Their washing machine was a small one, only able to get through about thirty loads of ground a day. In the afternoon they began to take out of the machine the heavy deposit which had been left after the earth and lighter gravel had been washed away. Hardman filled a sieve with this stuff, and worked it up and down in a tub of water so that the action of the water should work the diamonds to the bottom of the sieve.

“Now, what luck?” he said, as he turned the sieve upside down on the sorting-table, at which Timson had taken his position. It was an exciting moment, for the stuff on the table was the result of a good many loads of ground, and if the place was any good, they might hope to find several diamonds in it. Mr Timson trembled with excitement. There was a second or two of suspense. Then he saw one diamond, then another, and another, and Hardman, who was looking over his shoulder, found two or three more. The next sieveful was equally good, and the result of the wash up was that the ground was proved to be marvellously rich. After that Timson suggested that they had better sink in some other place and find out how large the mine was, but Hardman did not agree to this. They had found out enough to know that whoever owned the farm owned a fortune, and they had better make the best use of their information and try to purchase the farm from its present owner before any one else found out what they knew. So the machinery and tools were packed up in their waggon, and the party started back again to Kimberley.

Hardman undertook to find out about the land where the mine was situated, and until he could obtain that information, Mr Timson was to take care not to breathe one word of their secret. It was an exciting time for the latter gentleman. He thought to himself that perhaps they had been watched by some one who would claim a share in their prize, or give information to others who might bid against them for the land, or perhaps the man who owned it might come across the traces of the fresh working and that might arouse his suspicions. Come what might, thought Mr Timson, he would become the part owner of that wonderful mine. So far as they could judge, it was of greater extent than the Kimberley mine, and the work they had done made it appear to be three times as rich. If he could purchase the farm for a small sum, all the better, but he would not be afraid of risking all he had to get possession of it. Of the prospector, he could hear no more. He had probably wandered away into the veldt and destroyed himself. Mr Timson did not care much what might have happened to him so long as he did not tell his story, or rather, so much of it as related to the diamond mine, to any one else.

It took Hardman about two days to obtain the information he required. It was fairly satisfactory, and he came to his friend in very good spirits. “It’s the Farm Boschfontein, there is no doubt about that, and it belongs to a Dutchman, by name Ziederman; and it’s the worst farm in the province, I am told,” he said, coming up to Timson, who was standing on the stoep of the hotel, and taking him on one side.

“Ziederman! where does he live, and what kind of a man is he?”

“Well, he is a pretty crude sort of a Dutchman, and his house is on the farm, about an hour’s drive from the mine. If we go over and see him, and tell him that we think of keeping a store where the road runs past it, and want to stock the farm, he will think he has got hold of two fools, and be glad to sell,” was the other’s answer.

The next day Messrs Hardman and Timson started off to interview Mr Ziederman, the unconscious owner (they hoped) of the mine. The Boschfontein homestead where he lived was one of those low, whitewashed mud houses with which travellers in South Africa are so familiar. Mr Timson could see it miles away across the long flat over which they were driving. It was a poverty-stricken looking place, and as they neared the house there was no sign of any stock about.

“Looks as if Boschfontein had about broke him,” said Hardman; “he’ll be glad to sell, you bet!”