thick black veils and large black-silk poke bonnets. Parsi washerwomen with large bundles of soiled clothes on their heads pushed past soldiers in red coats and helmets. It was a fascinating spectacle.
The first thing Jamie did was to seek out an inexpensive boardinghouse recommended to him by a sailor aboard ship. The landlady was a dumpy, ample-bosomed, middle-aged widow.
She looked Jamie over and smiled. 'Zoek yulle goud?'
He blushed. 'I'm sorry—I don't understand.'
'English, yes? You are here to hunt gold? Diamonds?'
'Diamonds. Yes, ma'am.'
She pulled him inside. 'You will like it here. I have all the convenience for young men like you.'
Jamie wondered whether she was one of them. He hoped not.
'I'm Mrs. Venster,' she said coyly, 'but my friends call me 'Dee-Dee.'' She smiled, revealing a gold tooth in front. 'I have a feeling we are going to be very good friends. Ask of me anything.'
'That's very kind of you,' Jamie said. 'Can you tell me where I can get a map of the city?'
With map in hand, Jamie went exploring. On one side of the city were the landward suburbs of Rondebosch, Claremont and Wynberg, stretching along nine miles of thinning plantations and vineyards. On the other side were the marine suburbs of Sea Point and Green Point. Jamie walked through the rich residential area, down Strand Street and Bree Street, admiring the large, two-story buildings with their flat roofs and peaked stuccoed fronts— steep terraces rising from the street. He walked until he was finally driven indoors by the flies that seemed to have a personal vendetta against him. They were large and black and attacked in swarms. When Jamie returned to his boardinghouse, he found his room filled with them. They covered the walls and table and bed.
He went to see the landlady. 'Mrs. Venster, isn't there anything you can do about the flies in my room? They're—'
She gave a fat, jiggling laugh and pinched Jamie's cheek. 'Myn magtig. You'll get used to them. You'll see.'
The sanitary arrangements in Cape Town were both primitive and inadequate, and when the sun set, an odoriferous vapor covered the city like a noxious blanket. It was unbearable. But Jamie knew that he would bear it. He needed more money before he could leave. 'You can't survive in the diamond fields without money,' he had been warned. 'They'll charge you just for breathin'.'
On his second day in Cape Town, Jamie found a job driving a team of horses for a delivery firm. On the third day he started working in a restaurant after dinner, washing dishes. He lived on the leftover food that he squirreled away and took back to the boardinghouse, but it tasted strange to him and he longed for his mother's cock-a-leekie and oatcakes and hot, fresh-made baps. He did not complain, even to himself, as he sacrificed both food and comfort to increase his grubstake. He had made his choice and nothing was going to stop him, not the exhausting labor, or the foul air he breathed or the flies that kept him awake most of the night. He felt desperately lonely. He knew no one in this strange place, and he missed his friends and family. Jamie enjoyed solitude, but loneliness was a constant ache.
At last, the magic day arrived. His pouch held the magnificent sum of two hundred pounds. He was ready. He would leave Cape Town the following morning for the diamond fields.
Reservations for passenger wagons to the diamond fields at Klipdrift were booked by the Inland Transport Company at a small wooden depot near the docks. When Jamie arrived at 7:00 am., the depot was already so crowded that he could not get near it. There were hundreds of fortune seekers fighting for seats on the wagons. They had come from as far away as Russia and America, Australia, Germany and England. They shouted in a dozen different tongues, pleading with the besieged ticket sellers to find spaces for them. Jamie watched as a burly Irishman angrily pushed his way out of the office onto the sidewalk, fighting to get through the mob.
'Excuse me,' Jamie said. 'What's going on in there?'
'Nothin',' the Irishman grunted in disgust. 'The bloody wagons are all booked up for the next six weeks.' He saw the look of dismay on Jamie's face. 'That's not the worst of it, lad. The heathen bastards are chargin' fifty pounds a head.'
It was incredible! 'There must be another way to get to the diamond fields.'
'Two ways. You can go Dutch Express, or you can go by foot.'
'What's Dutch Express?'
'Bullock wagon. They travel two miles an hour. By the time you get there, the damned diamonds will all be gone.'
Jamie McGregor had no intention of being delayed until the diamonds were gone. He spent the rest of the morning looking for another means of transportation. Just before noon, he found it. He was passing a livery stable with a sign in front that said mail depot. On an impulse, he went inside, where the thinnest man he had ever seen was loading large mail sacks into a dogcart. Jamie watched him a moment.
'Excuse me,' Jamie said. 'Do you carry mail to Klipdrift?'
'That's right. Loadin' up now.'
Jamie felt a sudden surge of hope. 'Do you take passengers?'
'Sometimes.' He looked up and studied Jamie. 'How old are you?'
An odd question. 'Eighteen. Why?'
'We don't take anyone over twenty-one or twenty-two. You in good health?'
An even odder question. 'Yes, sir.'
The thin man straightened up. 'I guess you're fit. I'm leavin' in an hour. The fare's twenty pounds.'
Jamie could not believe his good fortune. 'That's wonderful! I'll get my suitcase and—'
'No suitcase. All you got room for is one shirt and a toothbrush.'
Jamie took a closer look at the dogcart. It was small and roughly built. The body formed a well in which the mail was stored, and over the well was a narrow, cramped space where a person could sit back to back behind the driver. It was going to be an uncomfortable journey.
'It's a deal,' Jamie said. 'I'll fetch my shirt and toothbrush.'
When Jamie returned, the driver was hitching up a horse to the open cart. There were two large young men standing near the cart: One was short and dark, the other was a tall, blond Swede. The men were handing the driver some money.
'Wait a minute,' Jamie called to the driver. 'You said I was going.'
'You're all goin',' the driver said. 'Hop in.'
'The three of us?'
'That's right.'
Jamie had no idea how the driver expected them all to fit in the small cart, but he knew he was going to be on it when it pulled out.
Jamie introduced himself to his two fellow passengers. 'I'm Jamie McGregor.'
'Wallach,' the short, dark man said.
'Pederson,' the tall blond replied.
Jamie said, 'We're lucky we discovered this, aren't we? It's a good thing everybody doesn't know about it.'
Pederson said, 'Oh, they know about the post carts, McGregor. There just aren't that many fit enough or desperate enough to travel in them.'
Before Jamie could ask what he meant, the driver said, 'Let's go.'
The three men—Jamie in the middle—squeezed into the seat, crowded against each other, their knees cramped, their backs pressing hard against the wooden back of the driver's seat. There was no room to move or breathe. It's not bad, Jamie reassured himself.
'Hold on!' the driver sang out, and a moment later they were racing through the streets of Cape Town on their way to the diamond fields at Klipdrift.
By bullock wagon, the journey was relatively comfortable. The wagons transporting passengers from Cape Town to the diamond fields were large and roomy, with tent covers to ward off the blazing winter sun. Each wagon accommodated a dozen passengers and was drawn by teams of horses or mules. Refreshments were provided at regular stations, and the journey took ten days.
The mail cart was different. It never stopped, except to change horses and drivers. The pace was a full gallop, over rough roads and fields and rutted trails. There were no springs on the cart, and each bounce was like
