The golden pool : $b A story of a forgotten mineFreeman, R. Austin (Richard Austin)
General
The golden pool : $b A story of a forgotten mine
Freeman, R. Austin (Richard Austin)
British -- Africa -- Fiction; Mines and mineral resources -- Fiction
A few minutes’ very easy climbing brought me to the foot of the hill
by the great odúm tree, and I plunged at once into the forest, which
was here rather dense, keeping a careful eye upon my shadow, that I
might not lose my way. From the summit of the hill I had noted the
position of the river, and I now struck out confidently in its
direction.
It was very unpleasant pushing through the dense vegetation, for my
unclothed condition exposed me completely to the thorns with which
every bush and tree seemed to be covered, and my progress was not
rapid; but at length, after walking for about half a mile, I crossed a
small track, and soon after came out on to the bank of the river,
which was here a rather shallow stream about thirty yards broad, whose
clear water ran quietly over a bed of pale grey sand. My first action
on reaching the river was to lie down and indulge in a deep draught of
the limpid water, for the tiny spring that we had found on the
hillside below the tunnel had given barely enough water to quench our
thirst, even when carefully collected in the hollows of our hands;
then I arose, and having cut a bunch of twigs and laid them on the
bank for a landmark, walked slowly up stream, wading nearly knee-deep.
The river was a typical forest stream, meandering through a kind of
tunnel of foliage, between high banks of crumbling yellow sandstone,
clothed with moss and fern; but it was so enclosed by the forest and
one part was so like another, that I could for some time find no spot
that I could hope to identify on a second visit.
I had been sauntering thus for some time when my foot came in contact
with some hard object in the sand, and stooping to examine it, I
picked up one of the large fresh-water mussels that the Adangme people
call affaní. This was indeed a lucky find, for although these
shell-fish are tough and greasy, they are perfectly wholesome to eat;
so I fell to searching with my feet for more, and before long had
collected as many as I could carry in my hands.
The river, at the place that I had now reached, spread out into a wide
expanse that in the rainy season was evidently a swamp, and as the
foliage seemed here a little thinner, I waded across to the further
bank in the hopes that from thence a more extended view might be
obtainable. Nor was I disappointed, for when I had crossed the river,
which nowhere came above my waist, I could plainly see, through an
opening in the foliage, the summit of the hill and the red patch of
our cliff below it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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