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
When we reached the mouth of the tunnel with our small but ponderous
burdens, we first took the precaution to fill the bags up with leaves,
so that if we met anyone we might seem to be carrying loads of kola.
Then we let ourselves very carefully down the steep hillside until,
after a world of labour, we reached the level. I had kept the
direction well in my mind, and was able to lead my companion pretty
nearly by the route that I had followed on my return from the island;
in fact, I managed so well that in not more than half an hour after
leaving the tunnel we broke out of the undergrowth on the river bank
within sight of the island. I worked my way through the shallows until
the opening in the trees came in sight, and then taking my bearings by
the oil-palm and the tree, I crossed the river, with Bukári in my
wake, and found the moss-covered knoll at once. Here we emptied out
our bags, stowing the shining spoil in a heap under a clump of bushes,
and immediately set out on our return, picking up a few shell-fish as
we crossed the river. On our way back I cut a few sticks which, when
we arrived, I laid on the mass of embers to which our fire had sunk,
and set the affaní to roast, while we loaded our sacks afresh; for it
was now within two hours of noon, and we were getting hungry again.
We made in all five journeys before we had cleared off all that we had
raised, and as we each carried about a hundred pounds--the utmost that
we could stagger under--the quantity of gold that was ultimately piled
under the bushes on the island would be roughly a thousand pounds
weight, or near upon half a ton.
When we had delivered the last load on to the island we set to work
without delay to bury what we had brought, and this, seeing that my
knife was our sole implement, proved to be no small labour. I
commenced by cutting out a square of the thick moss about two feet
across, which I rolled up like a turf; then I stirred the black mould
with my knife while Bukári rooted with his fingers, burrowing like a
mole until we had excavated a space large enough to hold the treasure.
Into this we cast the manillas, packing them in as neatly as we could,
and when the last of them had been crammed in, we replaced as much of
the earth as there was room for, stamping it down hard with our feet,
and threw the remainder amongst the bushes. Lastly, I laid the slab of
moss back in its place, and when I had squeezed and coaxed it a
little, it joined so neatly at the edges that the surface looked as if
it had never been disturbed.
As we returned, I stopped at the tree to make a more permanent and
distinctive mark, so that I might feel that the first stage of our
labour was completed, and with the point of my knife I cut my initials
in large conspicuous letters on the smooth grey bark. This done we
resumed our journey in quite high spirits, picking out of our bags the
affaní that we had collected in the river, and eating them raw as we
went.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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