When the Lion Feeds Page 22

  You know, your sparring partner. It turns out he’s a miner and he’s willing to work for thirty a month. So you can come to town with me and watch me make you rich. I’m meeting the Greek at Candy’s Hotel at nine o’clock.

  Duff was talking and Sean sat silently on the edge of his chair; at ten the Greek had still not put in an appearance, Duff was moody and Sean was garrulous with relief. At eleven Sean wanted to go back to the mine. It’s an omen, Duff, God looked down and he saw us sitting here all ready to make a terrible mistake. “No, “ he said,, I can’t let them do it, i’ll have the Greek break a leg, I can’t let it happen to such nice boys. “ Why don’t you go and join a Trappist monastery? Duff checked his watch. Come on, let’s go! Yes, sir! Sean stood up with alacrity. We’ll get back in plenty of time to clean the tables before lunch. we’re not going home, we’re going to look for the Greek. Now listen, Duff I’ll listen later, come on. They rode across to the Bright Angels, left the horses outside and walked in together. It was dark in the canteen after the sunshine-outside, but even in the gloom a group at one of the tables caught their attention immediately.

  The Greek sat with his back to them; the line of his parting seemed to be drawn with white chalk and a ruler through the oily black waves of his hair. Sean’s eyes switched from him to the two men that sat across the table from him. Jews, there was no mistaking it, but there any similarity ended. The younger one was thin with smooth olive skin drawn tight across the bold bones of his cheeks; his lips were very red and his eyes, fringed with girl’s lashes, were toffee-brown and melting. In the chair beside him was a man with a body that had been shaped in wax then held near a hot flame. Shoulders rounded to the verge of deformity drooped down over a pearshaped body; with difficulty they supported the great Taj Mahal domed head. His hair was styled in the fashion of Friar Tuck, thick only around the ears. But the eyes, the flickering yellow eyes, there was nothing comical about them. Hradsky, hissed Duff, then his expression changed. He smiled as he walked across to the table.

  Hello, Nikky, I thought we had an appointment The Greek twisted quickly in his chair. Mr Charleywood, I’m sorry, I was held up. So I see, the woods are full of highway-men. Sean saw the flush start -to come up out of Hradsky’s collar then sink back again.

  Have you sold? Duff asked.

  The Greek nodded nervously. I’m sorry, Mr Charleywood, but Mr Hradsky paid my price and no haggling, cash money, too! Duff let his eyes wander across the table. Hello, Norman. How’s your daughter? This time the flush escaped from Hradsky’s shirt and flooded over his face. He opened his mouth, his tongue clucked twice, then he closed it again.

  Duff smiled, he looked at the younger Jew. Say it for him, Max. The toffee eyes dropped to the table top. Mr Hradsky’s daughter is very well. I believe she married soon after my involuntary departure from Kimberley. That is correct. Wise move, Norman, much wiser than having your bully boys run me out of town. That wasn’t very nice of you.

  No one spoke. We must get together some time and have a chat about old times. Until then, Fa, fa, fare ye we, we, well On the way back to the mine Sean asked, He’s got a daughter? If she looks like him you were lucky to escape. She didn’t, she was like a bunch of ripe grapes with the bloom on them. I can hardly credit it. Neither could 1. The only conclusion I could reach was that Max did that job for him as well rWhat’s the story about MaxVHe’s the Court Jester. Rumour has it that after Hradsky has finished hanging it out, Max shakes it for him. Sean laughed and Duff went on, But don’t underestimate Hradsky. His stutter is his only weakness and with Max to talk for him he’s overcome that.

  Beneath that monumental skull is a brain as quick and merciless as a guillotine. Now that he’s arrived on this goldfield there’s going to be some action; we’ll have to gallop to keep up with him. Sean thought for a few seconds, then, Talking about action, Duff, now that we’ve lost the Greek’s claims and won’t have to use all our ready money satisfying him, let’s give some thought to ordering new machinery to work the claims we have got.

  Duff grinned at him. I sent a telegram to London last week. There’ll be a pair of brand new ten-stamp mills on the water to us before the end of the month. Good God, why didn’t you tell me? You were worried enough as it was, I didn’t want to break your heart Sean opened his mouth to blast Duff out of the saddle, Duff winked at him before he could talk and Sean’s lips trembled. He felt the laughter in his throat, he tried to stop it but it swamped him. How much is it going to cost us? he howled through his mirth. If you ask that question once more, I’ll strangle you, Duff laughed back at him. Rest content in the knowledge that if we’re going to have enough to honour the bills of lading when those mills arrive at Port Natal, we’ll have to run a mountain of Leader Reef through our little rig during the next few weeks. What about the payments on the new claims? That’s my department, I’ll worry about that And so their partnership crystallized; their relationship was established over the weeks that followed. Duff with his magic tongue and his charming, lopsided grin was the one who negotiated, who poured the oil on the storm waters churned up by impatient creditors. He was the storehouse of mining knowledge which Sean tapped daily, he was the conceiver of schemes, some wild, others brilliant. But his fleeting nervous energy was not designed to bring them to fruition. He lost interest quickly and it was Sean who finally rejected the least likely Charleywood brain children and adopted the others that were more deserving; once he had made himself stepfather to them he reared them as though they were his own. Duff was the theorist, Sean the practician. Sean could see why Duff had never found success before, but at the same time he recognized that without him he would be helpless. He watched with profound admiration the way that Duff used the barely sufficient flow of gold from the Candy Deep to keep the mill running, pay the tradesmen, meet the claim monies as they fell due and still save enough for the new machinery. He was a man juggling with live coals: hold one too long and it burns, let one fall and all fall.

  And Duff, deep-down-uncertain Duff, had a wall to put his back against.

  His speech never showed it but his eyes did when he looked at Sean.

  Sometimes he felt small next to Sean’s big body and bigger determination, but it was a good feeling: like being on a friendly mountain.

  They put up new buildings around the mill: storerooms, a smelting house and cabins for Sean and Curtis.

  Duff was sleeping at the Hotel again. The location for the Natives sprawled haphazard down the back slope of the ridge, retreating a little each week as the white mountain of the mine dump grew and pushed it back. The whole valley was changing. Hradsky’s new mills arrived and stood up along the ridge, tall and proud until their own dumps dwarfed them. Johannesburg, at first a mere pattern of surveyors pegs, sucked the scattered encampments onto her grassy chequerboard and arranged them in a semblance of order along her streets.

  The Diggers Committee, its members tired of having to scrape their boots every time they went indoors, decreed public latrines be erected. Then, flushed with their own audacity, they built a bridge across the Natal Spruit, purchased a water cart to lay the dust on the streets of Johannesburg and passed a law prohibiting burials within half a mile of the city centre. Sean and Duff as members of the Committee felt it their duty to demonstrate their faith in the goldfield, so they bought twenty five plots of ground in Johannesburg, five pounds each to be paid within six months. Candy recruited all her customers and in one weekend of frantic effort they razed her Hotel to the ground, packed every plank and sheet of iron onto their wagons, carried it a mile down the valley and re-erected it on her own land in the centre of the township. During the party she gave them on that Sunday night they nearly succeeded in dismantling it for the second time. Each day the roads from Natal and the Cape fed more wagons, more men into the Witwatersrand goldfield.

  Duff’s suggestion that the Diggers Committee levy a guinea a head from all newcomers to help finance the public works was reluctantly rejected, the general feeling being that if
it led to civil rebellion there were more newcomers than Committee members and no one fancied being on the losing side.

  One morning, when he came out to the mine, Duff brought a telegram with him. He handed it to Sean without comment. Sean read it. The machinery had arrived.

  Good God, it’s three weeks early. They must have had a downhill sea, or a following wind or whatever it is that makes ships go faster muttered Duff.

  Have we got enough to pay the bill? asked Sean. No. What are we going to do? I’ll go and see the little man at the bank, He’ll throw you out in the street! I’ll get him to give us a loan on the claims! How the hell are you going to do that, we haven’t paid for them yet. That’s what you call financial genius. I’ll simply point out to him that they’re worth five times what we bought them for. Duff grinned. Can you and Curtis carry on here without me for today while I go and arrange it? You arrange it and I’ll happily give you a month’s holiday. When Duff came back that afternoon he carried a paper with him. It had a red wax seal in the bottom corner, across the top it said Letter of Credit, and in the middle, standing out boldly from the mass of small print, was a figure that ended in an impressive string of noughts.

  You’re a bloody marvel, said Sean.

  Yes, I am rather, aren’t I! agreed Duff.

  The Heyns brothers machinery was on the same ship.

  lock and Duff rode down to Port Natal together, hired a hundred wagons and brought it all back in one load.

  I’ll tell you what Al do With You, Jock, I’ll wager you that we get our mills producing before you do. Loser pays for the transport on the whole shipment, Duff challenged him when they reached Johannesburg where, in Candy’s new bar-room, they Were washing the dust out of their throats. You’re on!, I’ll go further, I’ll put up a side bet of five hundred.

  Sean prodded Duff in the ribs.

  Gently, Duff, we can’t afford it. But Jock had already snapped up the bet.

  What do you mean we can’t afford it? whispered Duff. We’ve got nearly fifteen hundred pounds left on the letter of credit-Sean shook his head.

  No, we haven’t. Duff pulled the paper from his inside pocket and tapped Sean’s nose with it. There, read for yourself. Sean took it out of Duff’s hand.

  Thanks, old chap, I’ll go and pay the man now. What man? The man with the wagons.

  What wagons? The wagons that you and Jock hired in Port Natal. I’ve bought them. The hell you say! It was your idea to start a transport business. just as soon as they’ve offloaded they’ll be on their way again to pick up a shipment of coal from Dundee. Duff grinned at him.

  Don’t you ever forget an idea? All right, laddie, off you go, we’ll just have to win the bet, that’s all. One of the mills they placed on the Candy Deep, the other on the new claims beyond the Cousin Jock Mine.

  They hired two gangs from among the unemployed in Johannesburg. Curtis supervised one of them and Sean the other, while Duff darted back and forth keeping an eye on both. Each time he passed the Cousin Jock he spent a few minutes checking Trevor and Jock’s progress. They’ve got the edge on us, Sean; their boilers are up and holding pressure already, he reported fretfully, but the next day he was smiling again. They didn’t mix enough cement in the platform, it started to crumble as soon as they put the crusher on it.

  They’ll have to cast it again. That set them back three or four days.

  The betting down in the canteens fluctuated sharply with each change of fortune. Francois came up to the Candy Deep one Saturday afternoon. He watched them work, made a suggestion or two, then remarked, They’re giving three-to-one against you at the Bright Angels; they, reckon the Heynses, will be finished by next weekend. Go down and put another five hundred pounds on for me, Duff told him, and Sean shook his head despairingly. Don’t worry, laddie, we can’t lose, that amateur mining engineer, Jock Heyns, has assembled his crusher jaws all arse-about-face. I only noticed it this morning he’s in for a surprise when he tries to start up. He’ll have to strip the whole damn rig. Duff was right, they brought both their mills into production a comfortable fifteen hours before the Heyns brothers. Jock rode over to see them with his jaw on his chest. Congratulations. Thanks, Jock, did you bring your cheque book? That’s what I came to talk about. Can you give me a little time? Your credit’s good, Sean assured him, come and have a drink and let me sell you some cooPAh, yes, I heard your wagons arrived back this morning.

  What price are you charging? Fifteen pounds a hundredweight. Good God.

  You bloody bandit, I bet it cost you less than five shillings a hundredweight. A man’s entitled to a reasonable profit, protested Sean.

  It had been a long hard pull up to the top of the hill but Sean and Duff had arrived at last and from there it was downhill all the way. The money poured in.

  The geological freak that had bowed the Leader Reef away from the Main across the Candy Deep claims had, at the same time, enriched it, injected it full of the metal.

  Francois was there one evening when they put the ball of amalgam into the retort. His eyes bulged as the mercury boiled away; he stared at the gold the way a mAn watches a naked woman. Gott! I’m going to have to call you two thunders “Mister from now on. Have you ever seen richer reef, Francois? Duff gloated.

  Francois shook his head slowly. You know my theory about the reef being the bed of an old lake, well this bears it out. The kink in your reef must have been a deep trench along the bottom of the lake. It would have acted as a natural gold trap. Hell, man, what luck. With your eyes closed you have picked the plum out of the pudding.

  The Jack and Whistle is half as rich as this. Their overdraft at the bank dropped like a barometer in a hurricane; the tradesmen started greeting them with a smile; they gave Doc Sutherland a cheque which would have kept even him in whisky for a hundred years. Candy kissed them both when they paid her out in full, plus interest at seven percent. Then she built herself a new Hotel, double storied, with a crystal chandelier in the dining-room and a magnificent bedroom suite on the second floor done out in maroon and gold. Duff and Sean rented it immediately but with the express understanding that if ever the Queen visited Johannesburg they would allow her to use it. In anticipation Candy called it the Victoria Rooms.

  Francois, with a little persuasion, agreed to take over the running of the Candy Deep. He moved his possessions, one chest of clothes and four chests of patent medicines, across from the Jack and Whistle. Timothy Curtis was the manager of the mill on the new claims; they named it the Little Sister Mine. Although not nearly as rich as the Candy Deep it was producing a sweet fortune each month, for Curtis worked as well as he fought.

  By the end of August Sean and Duff had no more creditors: the claims were theirs, the mills were theirs and they had money to invest. We need an office of our own here in town. We can’t run this show from our bedrooms complained Sean. You’re right, agreed Duff, we’ll build on that corner plot nearest the market square. The plan was for a modest little four-room building, but it finally expanded to two stories, stinkwood floors, oak panelling and twenty rooms. What they couldn’t use they rented. The price of land has trebled in three months, said Sean, and it’s still moving. You’re right, now’s the time to buy, Duff agreed. You’re starting to think along the right lines, It was your idea. Was it? Duff looked surprised. Don’t you remember your “up where the eagles fly” speech? Don’t you forget anything? asked Duff.

  They bought land: one thousand acres at Orange Grove and another thousand around Hospital Hill. Their transport wagons, now almost four hundred strong, plied in daily from Port Natal and Lourenqo Marques.

  Their brickfields worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, to try to meet the demand for building materials.

  It took Sean almost a week to dissuade Duff from building an Opera House but he succeeded and instead they joined most of the other members of the Diggers Committee in financing a different type of pleasure palace.

  At Duff’s suggestion they called it the Opera House. They re
cruited the performers not from the great companies of Europe but from the dock areas of Capetown and Port Natal and chose as the conductor a Frenchwoman of vast experience named Blue Bessie after the colour of her hair.

  The Opera House provided entertainment on two levels.

  For the members of the Committee and the other emergent rich there was a discreet side entrance, a lavishly furnished lounge where one could buy the finest champagne and discuss the prices on the Kimberley Stock Exchange, and beyond the lounge were a series of tastefully decorated retiring-rooms. For the workers there was a bare corridor to queue in, no choice for your money and a five-minute time limit. In one month the Opera House produced more gold than the Jack and Whistle mine.

  By December there were millionaires in Johannesburg: Hradsky, the Heyns brothers, Karl Lochtkamper, Duff Charleywood, Sean Courtney and a dozen others. They owned the mines, the land, the buildings and the city: the aristocracy of the Witwatersrand, knighted with money and crowned with gold.