Geoffrey Jenkins: The River of Diamonds

The Judge said: 'Mr Shelborne, to sum up: you sailed 200 miles or more from Mercury Island to the mouth of the Orange River, entered it by a feat of seamanship which leaves some doubts in Colonel Duvenhage's mind about the impregnability of his security arrangements, and your cutter is now lying at anchor close to the town in a creek which you found many years ago?'

That is correct.'

'What were you doing at Mercury Island?'

'I am the headman, my lord.'

It was my turn to be surprised. Shelborne was obviously an educated man, a prospector and a master mariner, the island headmen were bucko mate types. They had to be to supervise the gangs of coloured guano scrapers. I knew vaguely that Mercury was one of a dozen or so guano islands off the Sperrgebiet coast which are run under government supervision for fertilizer collecting. Then I remembered that Mercury had a bad reputation, even among those God-forsaken islands, and that the only way to get guano workers there was to offer them a special bonus.

Shelborne was addressing the Judge: '… the islands are run as sailing ships, my lord. The tradition began with the great guano rush of the last century when the crews of the.hundreds of sailing ships which gathered there took their jargon ashore. We call a kitchen a galley, a wardrobe a slop-chest; our time is reckoned in ships' watches, not in hours…'

'Any further questions, Colonel Duvenhage?'

Duvenhage darted a glance, half admiration, half puzzlement, at the man in the witness-box.

'All I can say is that the last time a man tried to navigate the river mouth was eighty years ago. He used a canvas boat. They never found his body.'

The Judge dismissed Duvenhage and nodded to Shardelow to resume. 'Mr Shelborne… or should I say Captain?… I have studied this so-called deed of cession. I accept as genuine the German Imperial Seal. I see it is countersigned by Dr Heinrich Goering — who was he?'

'Formerly Reichskommissiondr for Luderitzland — what is today the Sperrgebiet. He' conquered it for Germany. He was the father of Hermann Goering, head of the Luftwaffe in the Second World War.'

'Thank you. Now to the actual deed of cession…'

Shelborne gripped the edge of the witness-box. He kept an even voice. He was making a great effort to control himself. 'Yes?'

'It is signed by Frederick William Caldwell and Frederick Shelborne, Strandloper's Water, 13 February 1930.'

'Yes.'

'You ask us to accept that the late Mr Caldwell ceded this right to you in return for — what exactly?'

'A wagonload of stores, a case of Cape brandy, and two sixty-four-gallon hogsheads of water.'

Shardelow tapped his teeth with his pencil. He gestured through the window towards the big man-made dune flanking the diamond recovery plant.

'What would you say was the annual value of diamonds taken at Oranjemund?'

Shelborne was obviously surprised at the oblique query. 'I can't say — many millions, of course.'

'If I said eighteen million pounds, you would accept that?'

'Yes.'

'You feel that the shoreline deposits of diamonds similar to those found at Oranjemund must continue under the sea; that in other words, since there are diamonds in terraces along the beach, it is logical to suppose that those terraces do not simply end where the breakers begin, but extend under the waves?'

'Important technical considerations…'

'Answer the question, Mr Shelborne! Do you believe that there are diamonds under the sea?'

Shelborne seemed reluctant to answer. Why? The cardinal point of the hearing was the assumption that the diamond terraces on the coast were also to be found on the sea-bed. Rhennin was staking a million dollars on it.

Shelborne remained cagey. 'Do you mean, are there diamond fields similar to the Oranjemund terraces, or are you referring to a different type of deposit…?'

Shardelow sensed that, he was on to something. 'I mean diamonds, Mr Shelborne. Diamonds in any shape or form. Diamonds under the sea.'

Shelborne seemed to relax. 'Yes.'

'Thank you. Assuming that there are sea-bed diamonds, then, would you consider their value to approximate to that of shore diamonds?'

'It could be; but…'

'It could be. Therefore, you sold a wagonload of stores, a case of brandy and two casks of water to Caldwell for the equivalent of many million pounds?'

'It wasn't in those terms…'

'I'm sure it wasn't, Mr Shelborne. No one in his senses would sell a wagonload of stores for millions of pounds.' He proceeded at once. 'Do you always write such a neat hand?'

'What do you mean?'

Shardelow handed the document up to the Judge. 'Please notice the two signatures. The one, Frederick William Caldwell, is a scrawl. The other, Frederick Shelborne, is in neat, scholarly italics. Perhaps, Mr Shelborne, you would sign your name on this piece of paper…'

'With pleasure.'

He wrote rapidly. Shardelow gave it a quick glance and passed it to Rhennin. I saw the beautiful italic writing — like printing almost, it was so fine.

Shardelow shrugged. His effort to discredit Shelborne's signature had failed. It could have been blown into a major point, but clearly he had another shot in his locker. He said, 'My lord, I shall accept that the two signatures were not written by the same hand.'

The Judge said, 'I think we should establish the exact position of Strandloper's Water. Mr Shelborne..?'

'About half-way up the Sperrgebiet coastline is a place called Meob Bay. Strandloper's Water is near it.'

'Inland — in the desert?'

'Yes. It is not marked on maps. They say, "unsurveyed, shifting sands".'

'How near Meob?'

Shelborne hesitated. 'Between where and Meob?' repeated the Judge.

It wasn't meant as a trap, but it served that purpose for Shardelow.

'About half-way between Meob and Mercury Island.'

Shardelow leaned forward and rapped out, 'And Mercury Island is where you are headman, is it not, Mr Shelborne?'

'Yes.'

Shardelow said, 'My lord, in view of the curious parallels which have come to light, I think it would profit the court to learn the exact circumstances of Mr Shelborne's parting with the late Mr Caldwell. The two comrades sat down at Strandloper's Water and Caldwell signed over his rights to a fortune greater than he could ever have hoped to find in the desert…'

The Judge looked intently at the tall man. The top of his bald head was beaded with sweat.

'You are, on your own admission, the last person to have seen Caldwell alive.'

The tape-recorder whirred. It was the only sound in the room. It still holds that long silence. Then Shelborne squared his shoulders, as if this had been the moment he had been waiting for. The length of his neck was accentuated by the size of his head. There was no disproportion, but one sensed the physical and mental power of the man.

He said, That is correct. On 13 February 1930.'

He gripped the front of the witness-box when Shardelow began. The eyes of the courtroom were upon him.

'Mr Shelborne, why were you at Strandloper's Water?'

'As I said previously, Caldwell and I were on an expedition to try to find the Hottentots' Paradise.'

'You still believe in this so-called treasure trove?'

'No.' '

'No? Yet you set out…'

Shelborne's voice was deep, sure. 'Until diamonds were found in the Sperrgebiet the Namib desert was shunned, unknown. Prospectors then touched on the fringes, but even today it is largely unexplored. The desert became a mirror for men's greed. Upon it they projected their dreams. They said, the remoter the desert, the richer the strike. The diamond legend requires to be woven round something intangible, something wildly improbable and inaccessible, for it exists in the mind alone. The Namib has all the necessary qualities. The treasure trove existed in Caldwell's mind.'