The I. D. B. digger who could turn out as many diamonds in an afternoon’s wash-up as mealies on a cob, and by a marvelous dispensation of Providence was always hitting upon “splendid ground” in his claim, is now a _rara avis_, for the _onus probandi_ of _bona fide_ possession being now thrown upon the holders of rough and uncut diamonds, the digger who discovers priceless gems in notoriously worthless ground and by the aid of the poorest appliances runs a serious risk of being confronted with the judge of the special court.[48] To those unacquainted with diamond digging the awarding of a punishment for what might, at first sight, appear to be merely exceptional “luck” may seem more than Draconian, but this point will be referred to in a succeeding chapter. The bogus licensed diamond buyer too who, frequently subsidised by some hidden man, merely pretended to transact legitimate business as a cloak for his illicit transactions, but did all that remunerated him in the “dead waist and middle of the night” is rapidly becoming extinct, owing to the stringent rules as to the proof of _bona fide_ possession and the enforced registration of sale and purchase, though at the same time he is still extant in this year of grace, 1887. Like the cat employed by the ingenious monkey, however, in removing chestnuts from the fire, or the policeman in Gilbert’s opera, “his life is not a happy one.” Again, the native claim-holder and digger who either bought a claim or was put into one to find diamonds, which, as a matter of fact, came from some other claim, perhaps some other mine, or even the river digging, now finds a more congenial occupation in running parcels over the Free State line or to Christiana in the Transvaal, or acting as an unlicensed diamond broker within the limits of the camp. “Jonas” and “Kleinboy” may still be seen with rings on their fingers and attired in a “masher” style which would not disgrace a West End tailor, but they are no longer diggers, though apparently their present occupation pays them handsomely enough. Before the act of 1882 came into force Kimberley was a different place from what it is now—a nervous activity was universal. The booted and spurred I. D. B. could then be seen galloping on his well-groomed steed to his favorite resort, the canteen bars were thronged day and night, the billiard-rooms were crowded. The “Free and Easy,” too, had its frequenters, who were posted in all the comic songs of the day, and nightly twitted and tickled each other with the chorus of one at that time just out from home. These gentlemen evidently appropriated and appreciated the point of its refrain, singing with great gusto. “They all do it, they all do it, Though they very often rue it,” as if their vile traffic and its consequences were one huge grim joke.[49]