The glamour of prospecting

by Fred C. Cornell

The gentleman now said that the tree was no longer there; which was true, in so far that nothing but a couple of koker-boomen grew within a mile of it. Nor was there any trace of any tree having ever grown there; and reluctantly we were forced to come to the conclusion that we had been fooled again.

I am sure that, had Paul had the man on the opposite bank of the river, in German territory, he would have shot him, and I am not sure that we should have tried to prevent him.

But there was nothing to be done—he stuck to his tale, and we could not prove it a lie, and there was nothing to be done except—go back! Later, we found that, as the river was very low, the granite bed was exposed in many of the channels into which it was here divided, and in them there were many extraordinary “pot-holes” worn in the hard stone, deep and perfectly circular cavities varying in size from a quart pot to a hogshead, or larger: and we spent a day in emptying some of these, and washing the gravel always found at their bottoms. But we had no luck: garnets, iolite, water opal, and some fine amethysts there were, but never a diamond. And, sadder and poorer men, we made our slow way back to Kakamas, Upington, Prieska, and civilisation.

Whilst on my way back, I again heard news as to diamonds having been found by Bushmen in the pans of the Southern Kalahari, and this time the information was so precise that I made up my mind to apply for a permit such as had hitherto never been granted to a prospector, a permit from the Government to search for diamonds in the vast, forbidden “Game Reserve.”

CHAPTER XIII

GRAVEL TERRACES AT ZENDLING’S DRIFT—SECOND CHRISTMAS AT RICHTERSFELDT—GERMAN POST AT ZENDLING’S—MAKING A RAFT—HIPPO AT THE LORELEI MOUNTAIN.

It was obvious, however, that such a permit would take a lot of time and patience to procure, and at any rate would be of no use until the long drought broke.

So I made no formal application immediately, but contented myself with taking certain preliminary steps, after which, calculating that at least three months must elapse before I could get any “forrader,” I determined to utilise that period in testing the wonderful gravels near Zendling’s Drift, to which I have already alluded.

They are ancient “terraces” of very large extent, and at some distance from the present bed of the Orange. Fully 50 feet above the open country they stand on they are remarkable in many respects, and their flat surfaces present a most beautiful appearance: agates, jaspers, banded ironstones, chalcedonies, and countless other beautiful pebbles lying there by the thousand tons, and all so clean and polished by the constantly blowing sand that they present the appearance of a vast mosaic. Scarlet and purple jasper, milk-white quartz, opalescent chalcedonies, black and white agates, and, most abundant of all, ironstone pebbles so beautifully oxydised by Nature’s chemistry that their jet-black surfaces exactly resembled the polished gun-metal so much used for watches and other jewellery.

Except for being of a much larger grade, these gravels resembled stone for stone the deposits found at Pomona and other islands and beaches of German South-West, where diamonds had been found so plentifully, and I was of the opinion (and hold that opinion still) that thorough prospecting would prove them to be diamondiferous. I had had no time to do any systematic work on my previous visit, but having got a friend as enthusiastic as myself to join me, an expedition was arranged, and we left Cape Town early in December (1911). Finance was extremely low, and we fully expected to have to rough it even more than usual. Only actual necessities were taken, but even the modicum of foodstuffs, tent, tools, and the bulky and essential barrels for “washing” the gravel taxed to the very utmost the only vehicle we were able to procure. This vehicle was a Scotch cart owned by a native missionary, and it met us at “28 miles,” a water station on the Cape Copper Company’s line from Port Nolloth. We had expected a waggon, but as vehicles of any kind are as rare as honest men in Namaqualand, we had to put up with what we could get. Naturally the load was far too much for such a cart, on such a road (heavy sand), and before we were out of sight of the lonely railway track we had stuck twice, and finally broken down. The team was the usual Hottentot mixture of cows, heifers, young bulls, and a couple of oxen, and the drivers worse than the team, and our progress was maddeningly slow.