I have already referred to their stone implements, etc., and indeed so little was metal of any kind used by them that they might be classed as a survival of the Palæolithic Age.
Except for our meeting with these primitive sons of the desert, this latter part of our trip in the Kalahari was tame and uninteresting. T’samma was plentiful, and we moved from pan to pan in comparative comfort, finding several spots where a species of Kimberlite was exposed directly beneath the superficial mud or sand of the surface, and at least one incontestable “pipe,” where the “blue ground” was almost identical with that of the “Premier Mine.” But we were never able to obtain water for the proper testing of these possibly rich mines, and before we left the Reserve had arrived at the conclusion that, if ever such a test was made, the first step towards it would have to be the opening of a water-route. This would entail no very great expense, as there are numerous places in the desert where water undoubtedly exists at no very great depth below the surface, and a series of boreholes would be almost certain to produce a plentiful supply. Indeed, these Kimberlite occurrences, either pipes or fissures, would themselves provide the likeliest place for such boring, as it has long been a recognised fact that shafts sunk in them rarely fail to obtain satisfactory supplies. Up to the very last day in the desert we had strong hopes of being able to bring out diamonds wherewith to prove that ours had been no wild-goose chase, but unfortunately this luck was denied us. At the same time, so good were the samples of Kimberlite we had obtained in more than one spot, and so convincing our photographs and other data as to these spots being undoubted pipes, that we considered our “proof” as required by the Government amply sufficient to allow us further facilities; and with the knowledge that finances would be readily forthcoming for the opening up of a water-route such as we intended suggesting, we came out of the Reserve at the end of our time considering that we were made men. We were ragged, burnt to the colour and consistency of biltong, our boots patched and cobbled with voorslag past all reasonable belief, half our teeth gone through living on t’samma (its worst effect), and altogether as desperate-looking a gang of tramps as ever graced the north-west border; but we were happy, for there was going to be an end of poverty—we had found the pipes!
Moreover we had thousands of feet of entirely novel bioscope films—the Great Falls of the Orange, the actual pans in the heart of the desert, Bushmen hunting, dancing, preparing t’samma; the huge nests of the “social bird” with their swarming inhabitants: in short, enough new “pictures” alone to repay us for the trip, even without the diamonds. For not one of the party was pessimistic enough to imagine for a moment either that the Government would refuse to allow us a chance of opening up a water-route to the pipes, or that the intense heat of the desert had—in spite of all precautions—utterly spoilt every foot of our films.
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—and amongst 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).