Michael Dun - 18. Chapter 18

Many of the diggers did not have the equipment to continue working beyond ten feet. It became clear to Michael that he would have to purchase land and take the chance of finding gold and reap its huge financial favour, or not find gold and return to England poorer than when he started out.

The buyers knew that in order for gold to be profitable, they would have to own as much of the land as possible, purchase expensive machinery, and dig, dig, dig. In the mean time Michael and Charlie settled in Ferreira’s Camp.

The Colonel indulged their company and explained that gold mining was separated into two main areas; alluvial, like panning in rivers as in the Eastern Transvaal, or shafting, by means of a headgear into the earth. Trenches needed to be built, and to hold the earth back, wooden structural supports.

He explained that passion was required to dig. An instinctive passion. Passion for anything bought rewards, like riches and fame and even immortality. Like George Harrison who discovered the main reef on Widow Oosthuizen’s farm, Langlaagte, a couple of months ago.

The colonel concluded"The Meintjies Syndicate is interested in much of the land and the Strubens run a tight shift too. The only thing to believe in, to be passionate with, is yourself and this land. Beneath these hills, is a treasure that belongs to us.”

The Colonel reinforced the importance of owning land and he knew a Mr. Van Breda, of the farm Tweelingsrus to the east of Ferreira’s Camp.

The Colonel explained, “He proposes to start mining as soon as possible. You may have to prospect on a lease at first. If you are interested he will see you.”

Michael and Charlie pooled their resources and Charlie was surprised to find out exactly how much Michael had in his Standard Bank account. The purchase and leasing capital needed would not set them back much.

The Colonel set up a meeting with van Breda at the Transvaal Hotel and Bar. The bar had no counter, just a few tables and chairs and sold hop and ginger beer. In this mud and reed building, a visitor could shack up on the floor. A rowdy crowd was making tentative arrangements for a boxing match on Christmas day and several diggers were talking about the Norse strike, but one in particular, an old man smoking a pipe, spoke in a broken English to a group of people, he was the loudest.

“Well? Was it George Walker or George Harrison?”

A member of the group laughed, saying. “Whomever, their lives are more fortunate than ours. They will retire wealthy men and forever be written into the history books.”

Michael and Charlie sat behind the old man and the Colonel sat with them. The old Boer went on.

“We all know this Harrison is Australian. He comes here, from England, a freemason by trade, and discovers gold. Now he doesn’t have a diggers license so what does he do, he goes to Pretoria and exhibits the gold to Kruger.”

A younger man with freckles said, “I always thought it was Walker.”

“Rubbish! Why did Walker get only one claim instead of two? The discoverer, by law, is entitled to two claims and Harrison got those claims. It was Harrison. Now, if I had someone like him to mine gold on my land, well…”

“I will do it.” Michael stood up.

The old man turned and guffawed. “Jy! You! You cannot dig your way out of trouble, my friend.”

“It depends entirely on the deal.” Michael answered.

“Wie is julle? Who are you?”

“I am Michael Dun from England and this is Charlie Manning.”

“What makes you uitlanders, outlanders, think there is payable gold on my farm?”

“We are prepared to take the risk.”

It was the first time Charlie or Michael had heard the word uitlander. Outlander or foreigner. So foreign, that Kruger had placed unreasonable restrictions upon their rights as human beings. The word implied that foreigners were a burden, especially the British who had colonized most of Africa including the Cape Colony and Natal. The Boers depended on these colonies for the shipment of supplies to the Republic.

The Boer paused for a moment to look quickly at these two men.

“Let me see your hands – both of you!”

They shrugged in agreement and held their hands up. Both possessed hard hands. Hands that could toil and slog at the earth. The Boer had expected soft hands. Michael told him that being a geologist, he knew the earth well.”

The old man was impressed. He invited them to Tweelingsrus, on the outskirts of what was to become Germiston. It was fair land, neat, with tall pines and hedges and wild brush. His flat roofed house was built of mortar and rock. Inside, peach-pip floors held the mortar together. Pictures of family, and hand written poems and prayers, lined the walls. He offered them a glass of wine.

“Mineral rights only. No farming rights. Is that fair?” The old man asked.

Michael replied, “We want the rights to all precious stones, mineral and water on the property.”

“Are these essential?”

“We are unable to mine without water. I presume your farm has been surveyed?”

“Last month. All right! But all expenses incurred are for your bill, you do understand? If you strike payable gold, you will retain all the rights to develop the land. You may have to erect buildings and buy machinery and you will have to divert the water from the house to the furrow up there.” He pointed to a lonely hill.

“And the cattle? They will have to be kept off the mining area.”

“The cattle, my friend, have a right to graze wherever they wish, even on the ground you are leasing.” Van Breda said.

“There will be damage.”

“I doubt that. They will not deliberately damage anything. Cattle is cattle! If you are successful, I shall sell you your piece of land, with certain conditions. But we will come back to that later.”

“And if we fail?”

“No land. No lease. You might have to return to England.”

Van Breda leased the farm to them for twenty years. The rental for the first ten years would be one hundred and fifty pounds, payable in British coinage. Van Breda was allowed a zoekers rift claim , and he portioned off a piece of ground equal to ten ordinary claims, for Michael and Charlie to mine.

EXCERPT FROM MICHAEL DUN’S DIARY

…We have started mining. Mrs. Minnaar introduced me to a Colonel Ferreira and he is teaching us the basics of a successful mining operation. The Colonel has a camp named after him and it is filled with hooligans, drunks, and filth. Most diggers commence mining with the digging of a trench. They hire an informal pool of black labour who have come from far and wide seeking employment. Their white superiors, dressed spiffingly in their bowler or veld hat, long khaki cotton trousers and unbuttoned shirts, supervise them but treat them most inhospitably. They call them “Kaffirs”.

Tents have been erected in every spare space. Some have built shacks, like myself, out of mud and rock. Small mounds of red sand can be seen developing along the ridges and pans. Sometimes the red soil soars in spiraling plumes of dust and nothing can be seen through it’s thick stranglehold. On days such as these, Mrs. Walker’s, the Transvaal Hotel and Mrs. Minnaar’s are filled with patrons who indulge in general chatter and card games or a couple of drinks. The weather has changed now, the cold, rusty air of winter has descended upon the fields, some diggings are so under resourced that they are forced to close while the Boer farmers journey north to warmer country. The land is barren save for a couple of trees along the outcrops and ridges. I have studied samples of excavated rock and found quartz, a hard substance together with soft varieties of feldspars and micas. Of all these minerals, quarts does not weather. As time goes, pressure builds up beneath the surface of the earth in this region. The earth thrusts and heaves, skids and skates, finally there are pebbles, grains and chips of quartzite.

The gold is rarely visible, restricted within the pyretic parts of the quartz deep beneath the surface of the earth, similar to the conglomerate deposits in New South Wales and Nova Scotia…

*

Winter closed. The veldt once again became alive with snipe, hares, partridges and game birds, the riches of spring and summer.

Then, on the eve of the proclamation of the gold fields, Henry Norse and Carl Jeppe struck pay dirt on the Doornfontein farm. Disobeying the law, they pegged their claim before registering it. Field Coronet Meyer took no action and the miners were angry.

But, mining was not the only thing going in September 1886. A post office of corrugated iron and wood served the community, street hawkers sold wares on the street corners to the working diggers. The proclamation of the farms Driefontein, Turffontein and Doornfontein brought a welcome respite to those who had waited a long time to prospect the land.

A prospector was entitled to beacon off one claim only, whilst a discoverer was entitled to beacon off two claims. A prospector had to be licensed by the Civil Commissioner in Pretoria and a digger’s license had to be applied for. With this license came stand and water rights. Proclaiming the gold fields was the most rewarding recognition for the poorer digger.

All this time, Michael was taking notice and notifying father every fortnight. He and Charlie built a windlass to dig deep into the earth and the beginnings of a mine materialised. Not yellow, but red.

The sludge melted down into the veldt of the valley and into the earth. Charlie diverted the water from the river to the diggings. Life was busy for them.

Peter Sheffield and England were far away from their thoughts. Their driving ambition was to strike gold banket. They constructed wooden beams to support the sides of the mine and hoped for the best every day. At night they were too tired to socialise, but when they heard Fillis’s circus was coming to town they had to attend come hell or high water.

*

Peter Sheffield attended the affair alone. He had shaved and parted his hair and placed a grey veld hat on his head. He paid admission at the tent and took his seat. The lights dimmed, drums rolled, and a younger man moved into the seat next to him. At intermission Peter stood up to stretch and took a walk out into the fresh air where he lit up his pipe. He looked up and found himself staring into the dark eyes of the stranger who sat beside him in the tent.

He had met him before, in Potchefstroom.

“Greetings. Do you enjoy the circus?” His accent was Dutch.

“What do you want?”

“I like jugglers and trapeze artists.” The stranger said, twisting his hands in the air.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. Quite alone.”

Peter asked, “Why on earth are you following me?”

The man stared at him for a moment then suggested they go for a stroll.

“Why on earth should I go for a stroll with you? Who the hell are you?” The longing to control returned stronger than ever before, like a shining, sharp scepter from behind his eyes, and he smiled, pleased with himself. Behind them the whistle blew and the circus was in full swing once again.

“My name is Gregory. That is all you need to know now. I have been watching you, yes. You have been very careless, Mr. Peter Sheffield. Indeed, very careless.” He paused to measure Peter’s reaction.

Peter was going to chide him over when he decided instead, to charm him. He relaxed a little and sat on a rock watching the soft moonlight touching the tents.

“Come, sit here.” He indicated a spot beside him. Gregory sat down.

“Would you care to tell me why you are watching me? You do not have to answer that if you do not wish to chapsy…”

“Michael Dun is a British spy.”

Between spurts of laughter he repeated what he had heard. It took a few moments for Gregory to register, and he laughed out loud. It sounded all too exotic and daring, then the laughter stopped and Gregory assured Peter that what he said was the truth. Peter quieted as the blood rushed to his head.

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. Perhaps your life, yes."

“And you will be my killer. Oh dear, chapsy, you do slay me…”

“Yes, I will be your killer. That is enough of a warning I can afford without throwing my life to the wolves.”

“Kill me in the name of Michael Dun?”

“Yes.”

“This is a hoax and you know it.”

“This is reality, Peter Sheffield."

“How do you know he is as spy? Explain.”

“For now be happy and enjoy what you have. If you say one word of this to anyone, Mr. Sheffield, I will kill you, just as sure as you killed young John Mansfield. And do not touch me. I know what you are.”

“Thanks. It was a pleasure knowing you.” Peter turned and walked away. He had enough insults for the day. He expected to be called back, and after he had walked two hundred meters, turned to find the night empty-black.

Gregory was gone.

*

A voice called out from across the veldt during intermission.

Michael turned at the sound of his name to face an anguished Danie Vogel, the man whose wagon Thokoza had repaired. Shaking their hands he explained that Marie was in the tent watching the clowns as well. Natal Camp was their home. “Is it true you own van Breda’s farm?”

“Well, not quite, soon we hope.”

“I know you are men of the earth. I am too. I can dig and supervise.”

Michael raised his eyebrows, saying, “Are you looking for work by any chance?”

“All the land is virtually gone except Randjieslaagte and they say there is no gold on that place. It is government ground.”

"I am most certain we are able to accommodate you and Marie. You are welcome any time.”

"There is another. He did not wish to come with us tonight. He is a seeker of fortune just as we are and needy of work. His name is Mr. Gordon Atkinson.”

“Gordon Atkinson?”

“Do you know him?”

“Cannot say rightly or wrongly. We know so many people, don’t we Charlie?”

“Absolutely. Yes…absolutely.”

“We have spoken about you and he seems to know you.”

“Yes, well, I cannot say for sure…” Michael stuttered.

“Well, I am sure when you see him…how can I thank you both. I shall tell Marie at once. She shall be overjoyed. She enjoys your company, kerels. We have much to thank you for.”

“Do not mention it, old chap.” The whistle blew and intermission ended. The three turned and went inside to their seats. A moment later, both Danie and Marie joined them and together enjoyed the rest of the performance.