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The store was cool and dark inside, a welcome relief from the hot, bright street, and it was filled with exotic odours. It seemed to Jamie that every inch of space was crammed with merchandise. He walked through the store, marvelling. There were agricultural implements, beer, cans of milk and crocks of butter, cement, fuses and dynamite and gunpowder, crockery, furniture, guns and haberdashery, oil and paint and varnish, bacon and dried fruit, saddlery and harness, sheep-dip and soap, spirits and stationery and paper, sugar and tea and tobacco and snuff and cigars … A dozen shelves were filled from top to bottom with flannel shirts and blankets, shoes, poke bonnets and saddles. Whoever owns all this, Jamie thought, is a rich man.
A soft voice behind him said, ‘Can I help you?’
Jamie turned and found himself facing a young girl. He judged she was about fifteen. She had an interesting face, fineboned and heart-shaped, like a valentine, a pert nose and intense green eyes. Her hair was dark and curling. Jamie, looking at her figure, decided she might be closer to sixteen.
‘I’m a prospector,’ Jamie announced. ‘I’m here to buy some equipment.’
‘What is it you need?’
For some reason, Jamie felt he had to impress this girl. ‘I – er – you know – the usual.’
She smiled, and there was mischief in her eyes. ‘What is the usual, sir?’
‘Well …’ He hesitated. ‘A shovel.’
‘Will that be all?’
Jamie saw that she was teasing him. He grinned and confessed. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m new at this. I don’t know what I need.’
She smiled at him, and it was the smile of a woman. ‘It depends on where you’re planning to prospect, Mr –?’
‘McGregor. Jamie McGregor.’
‘I’m Margaret van der Merwe.’ She glanced nervously towards the rear of the store.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss van der Merwe.’
‘Did you just arrive?’
‘Aye. Yesterday. On the post cart.’
‘Someone should have warned you about that. Passengers have died on that trip.’ There was anger in her eyes.
Jamie grinned. ‘I can’t blame them. But I’m very much alive, thank you.’
‘And going out to hunt for mooi klippe.’
‘Mooi klippe?’
‘That’s our Dutch word for diamonds. Pretty pebbles.’
‘You’re Dutch?’
‘My family’s from Holland.’
‘I’m from Scotland.’
‘I could tell that.’ Her eyes flicked warily towards the back of the store again. ‘There are diamonds around, Mr McGregor, but you must be choosy where you look for them. Most of the diggers are running around chasing their own tails. When someone makes a strike, the rest scavenge off the leavings. If you want to get rich, you have to find a strike of your own.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘My father might be the one to help you with that. He knows everything. He’ll be free in an hour.’
‘I’ll be back,’ Jamie assured her. ‘Thank you, Miss van der Merwe.
He went out into the sunshine, filled with a sense of euphoria, his aches and pains forgotten. If Salomon van der Merwe would advise him where to find diamonds, there was no way Jamie could fail. He would have the jump on all of them. He laughed aloud, with the sheer joy of being young and alive and on his way to riches.
Jamie walked down the main street, passing a blacksmith’s, a billiard hall and half a dozen saloons. He came to a sign in front of a decrepit-looking hotel and stopped. The sign read:
R-D MILLER, WARM AND COLD BATHS.
OPEN DAILY FROM 6 A.M. TO 8 P.M., WITH THE COMFORTS OF A NEAT DRESSING ROOM
Jamie thought, When did I have my last bath? Well, I took a bucket bath on the boat. That was – He was suddenly aware of how he must smell. He thought of the weekly tub baths in the kitchen at home, and he could hear his mother’s voice calling, ‘Be sure to wash down below, Jamie.’
He turned and entered the baths. There were two doors inside, one for women and one for men. Jamie entered the men’s section and walked up to the aged attendant. ‘How much is a bath?’
‘Ten shillings for a cold bath, fifteen for a hot.’
Jamie hesitated. The idea of a hot bath after his long journey was almost irresistible. ‘Cold,’ he said. He could not afford to throw away his money on luxuries. He had mining equipment to buy.
The attendant handed him a small bar of yellow lye soap and a threadbare hand towel and pointed. ‘In there, mate.’
Jamie stepped into a small room that contained nothing except a large galvanized-iron bathtub in the centre and a few pegs on the wall. The attendant began filling the tub from a large wooden bucket.
‘All ready for you, mister. Just hang your clothes on those pegs.’
Jamie waited until the attendant left and then undressed. He looked down at his grime-covered body and put one foot in the tub. The water was cold, as advertised. He gritted his teeth and plunged in, soaping himself furiously from head to foot. When he finally stepped out of the tub, the water was black. He dried himself as best he could with the worn linen towel and started to get dressed. His pants and shirt were stiff with dirt, and he hated to put them back on. He would have to buy a change of clothes, and this reminded him once more of how little money he had. And he was hungry again.
Jamie left the bathhouse and pushed his way down the crowded street to a saloon called the Sundowner. He ordered a beer and lunch. Lamb cutlets with tomatoes, and sausage and potato salad and pickles. While he ate, he listened to the hopeful conversations around him.
‘… I hear they found a stone near Colesberg weighin’ twenty-one carats. Mark you, if there’s one diamond up there, there’s plenty more …’
‘… There’s a new diamond find up in Hebron. I’m thinkin’ of goin’ there …’
‘You’re a fool. The big diamonds are in the Orange River …’
At the bar, a bearded customer in a collarless, striped-flannel shirt and corduroy trousers was nursing a shandygaff in a large glass. ‘I got cleaned out in Hebron,’ he confided to the bartender. ‘I need me a grubstake.’
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