Geoffrey Jenkins: The River of Diamonds

'And Sookin Sin?' He hadn't heard about it. It was, we agreed, a clumsy attempt to try and shift the blame on to the Russian trawler fleets of the coast.

He was very weak, but I had to find out why he had helio-ed along the river march and where his water had come from.

'It wasn't a helio, John, but my water-maker. I learned it in the Takla Makan; it's a wooden-frame, covered with glass, with little gutters on the inside. You saw its reflection. In clean-blown sand like the Namib it is simple to find water, if you know how. Water will sink only a certain distance in dry sand. I've known places in the desert where some scanty rain has lain as a moist layer for years a couple of feet below the surface. Here on the coast with our heavy fog-dew the water lies close to the ground-level, but if you dug, all you'd get would be slight dampness. My sunbox draws it up, it condenses on the glass, and I tap off pure water via the little gutters. It gives, about a brandy bottle full a day — I lived like that for a year in completely waterless areas.'

He coughed and closed his eyes. Caldwell the legend had beaten the desert at its own game!

I didn't like the sound of his coughing. 'I'll get the sails on her,' I said.

'I'll help,' said Mary. There's not much I can do here.'

Shelborne had not exaggerated the handling qualities of the Gquma. The sun was low and the wind fresh from the south-west. We set all plain sail and she snored out of the bay with the starboard rail awash. At this rate, we'd make Walvis Bay in two days. Mary sat by me at the long-handled tiller for an hour or more until Mercury was out of sight behind the northern arm of the bay.

I turned to look at the wake to estimate our speed.

'Dear God!' exclaimed Mary.

The double doors of the coach-house in front of us flew open. Shelborne stood, a great crimson blotch across the white bandages.

His voice was strong, excited. 'John! Mary! Did you hear it!'

We exchanged glances. There had been no sound but the wind; we had left he Bells behind after clearing the bay.

He steadied himself on one of the bad-weather grab-handles, gazing hard out astern — towards Mercury. He cocked his head. 'It's come, John! It's come, Mary! Look! What a sight! The whole shoreline is being swept out to sea! There's never been a flood like it!' He lifted his hand and Mary stopped on her way to him. 'Listen! Hear that! — Mercury gone! Poor Mercury! — it was home to me for so long…' There was no sound except the creak of the boat and the thin whine of the wind in the rigging; the shore was invisible. 'The Mazy Zed will take diamonds for twenty miles out now, John! No need to worry about the methane problem any more.' He turned towards the tiller, but he didn't see me: his eyes were blind with agony. 'My special suit of sails — this is the occasion I made them for. Bring her round so that the wind is more aft, John… we'll get them up…'

His grip relaxed and he fell dead in the bottom of the boat.

It was five minutes before I could bring the Gquma to a halt. She lay pitching in the long swell. Mary knelt by him.

Then we heard it for the first time — the long shattering thunder of the break-through. Caldwell had waited a lifetime, but he lay lifeless before the sound could have reached us.

We stared at one another.

Mary said, 'He was given to hear it — before.'

We broke out the new suit of sails.