The glamour of prospecting : $b wanderings of a South African prospector in search of copper, gold, emeralds, and diamondsCornell, Fred C. (Frederick Carruthers)
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The glamour of prospecting : $b wanderings of a South African prospector in search of copper, gold, emeralds, and diamonds
Cornell, Fred C. (Frederick Carruthers)
Mines and mineral resources -- South Africa; Prospecting; South Africa -- Description and travel
Poulley beckoned me and said, “You swim better’n I do--wade across and
get it.” And, like an ass, I thought I could. The rapids looked little
more than fifty yards of waist-deep water, though lower down the whole
width of the river was a mass of broken foam, and I thought that, with
a long pole to steady me, I could get over easily. So I got a stick and
my hat, and started. I put the pole in, and one leg up to the knee,
and immediately found the current much stronger than I expected; a
second step, and I was thigh-deep on a slippery rock, and trying to
lean upstream to counteract the force of the water; a third--and I was
engulfed in a whirling torrent, and well on my way to the Atlantic. I
kept the gun above water instinctively, and spinning like a top, my
head also came above water, giving me a glimpse of Poulley staring
open-mouthed at me from the bank, which was already well behind, whilst
the water dragged and buffeted me, striking me against rock after
rock. I was handicapped by the gun, which I did not wish to lose; but
realising that in a few more seconds I should be in the main rapids,
and that it was better to lose the gun than my life, I was just about
to let it go, when I brought up violently against a rock well out of
water and was able to grab a projecting point. I hung on and got the
gun out, and eventually dragged myself out of the swift current on to
the rock, whence I was able to make my way to a point near enough the
bank for Poulley to throw me a rope and help me out again.
I was cut, scratched, and bruised very badly, but thankful to be alive
at all, for had I been swept but a few inches farther from the rock,
I must have lost my life; as it was I lost my hat--no light loss in
the middle of summer in Namaqualand. It taught me a lesson--never to
attempt wading even the most innocent-looking rapid in the Orange.
Meanwhile we also lost the goose, and for the next few days our rations
were extremely scanty, an occasional dassie or small turtle-dove--as
tough as leather--being all we were able to shoot.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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