Blood Diamond Chapter 4

By the time Daniel fetched up on the white sand of the shore he was buffeted, cut and bleeding from being scraped against rock and sea-floor. His clothes were lacerated, there was a long, open gash in his left thigh, but he hugged that sand in the falling blackness with the fervour of a man reborn. And there, exhausted, he lay himself to sleep through that second long night, a piece of near-ruined jetsam to be poked at by the curious creatures of the land that emerged from the swaying tree-line, and scurried over by the night-time crabs.

When he woke the next morning, his joy that the dry land of the night before hadn’t been some parched seaborne hallucination was almost strong enough to overcome the raging of his thirst. He staggered to his feet and looked up and down the beach. As far as the eye could see the white sands stretched away, a bright ribbon beside the green tangled foliage of the jungle. Daniel had no idea where he was. He assumed he must have fetched up on the eastern coastline of that continent, but how far north or south he could not guess. He knew from his scrutiny of the charts that somewhere southwards was the old trading port of Sofala, where gold and ivory from the hinterland were brought to the sea in great caravans of native bearers and traded to Arab sailors to be spread through the world. But which way lay Sofala? It could be hundreds and hundreds of miles away in either direction.

Daniel’s first concern was water. He could strike inland through the tangled greenness in the hope of finding a pool or a spring, but it seemed to make better sense, better odds, to walk the coastline in the hope of coming upon a river mouth. He turned up the beach, northwards, and walked with the sea to his right and the vast silent landmass to his left. He walked slowly, deliberately, one trudging pace after another. Who knew how long he might have to walk? He had to conserve his strength.

Daniel had been trudging in this fashion on the harder sand at the head of the beach for several hours, sweating and blinking in the hot, high sun, when he saw, from a low line of hill to his left, a thin spiral of white smoke. It was fire and, where there was fire, there would be human beings and, where there were human beings, there would be food and water. Daniel knew nothing of the inhabitants of this place. The thought occurred that they might be hostile, but it seemed to him it would be more dangerous to walk on across that alien land alone. He turned and struck inland across the dunes toward the smoke.

The smoke was rising from a clearing of green scrub some short way from the sand of the beachy zone. The grass was short and the earth hard and compact under his feet as he picked his way toward it. He cleared his throat.

“Hulloa! Ahoy!”

It would be better, he thought, to alert them of his presence than to seem to creep upon them in a furtive and foe-like fashion.

“Ahoy there!  Is there anyone about?”

Daniel pushed aside a frond of low-hanging palm and stepped into a small clearing. It was deserted, except for a heap of smouldering coals, an area that had been brushed clear and what appeared to be a number of woven grass mats. Daniel looked around, his heart sinking. Abandoned! 

Then a movement from a dark shadow caught his eye. And then another. Daniel stood in the bright sunshine, blinking into the shade of the overhanging trees with their broad, flat leaves. Slowly, one by one, the figures emerged – black men of middling height, wrapped round with animal skins, their ears and necks decorated with a kind of dull metal jewellery, and each carrying a variety of implements of war – spears, javelins, daggers, clubs.

“I mean no harm,” said Daniel in a faltering voice as the strangers stepped closer. He opened his hands and showed them palm upward, empty. “I ask only for a mouthful of fresh water!”

But there was no welcome in those flat, hostile eyes. One of them thrust a spear point-down in the loose soil and yelled something in a tongue incomprehensible. Whatever it was, it was not a bellow of welcome. Then a young man, younger than the others, stepped forward and drew a short, wide-bladed weapon. He sank to a crouch before Daniel and bobbed lightly on the balls of his feet. Daniel’s heart sank. He had been in enough taverns in the rough parts of the maritime world to recognise when a young buck was looking to make a name in front of his elders. The young warrior edged forward across the clearing, sinews tensed to counter the first sign of attack. Daniel was not a coward, but he was also not a fool. Here was no happy ending for him. This was no Gaffer Skelton. This was no occasion for a futile demonstration of honour or courage. Without a second thought, he turned on his heel and ran.

He could hear them behind as he sprinted headlong through the low scrub, seeking shelter in the tangle of green trees. A glance over his shoulder: they had spread out in a wide fan behind him. There could be no doubling back or trying to break wide – they had him outflanked. It could not be long before they would run him to earth – Daniel was weak from the exertions and shock of the last twenty-four hours, weak from thirst and hunger and the sun, and this was not his terrain. This was as far from the green and pleasant hills of home as was the wide sea itself.

He made desperately for a dense cluster of trees. He knew not the names of any of these African plants – it was like running through the landscape of a dream where nothing is quite familiar, nothing quite as it is in the waking hours. Branches and thorns scraped at his neck as he ducked into the bower and crashed through, breaking and bending and sobbing with the fearful knowledge that they were behind him, and coming closer.

And then the resistance of the branches and shrubbery gave way before him and he tumbled and fell, rolling over and over onto suddenly open land. The pursuers gave a triumphant cry and broke free of the tangled undergrowth. The youth stepped forward, blade in hand, the light of murder in his eyes. Daniel clambered to his feet and lowered his hands to his side. You could not easily breed the gentleman out of the man, Daniel thought, and he was ready to meet his end like a gentleman.

Copyright Rannulph Moore

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Ranulph Moore describes himself as an explorer, who became a writer to purge himself of the adventures that were crowding his life. He says he has seen it all, in a life spent observing the lives of others.
He will travel anywhere – as long as he can make a decent cup of tea and launder a linen jacket. He describes Africa as one of his great loves. He has spent time in every country on the continent.
If he can’t find a good champagne, he has been known to resort to gin. He has homes in Paris, Jura and Cape Town. At present, he lives in Madagascar, where he is researching his latest book.
Read an interview with Rannulph Moore.