“They’re rioting at the Namib!”
Jamie stood up. “What? What happened?”
“One of the black boys was caught trying to steal a diamond. He cut a hole under his armpit and hid the stone inside it. As a lesson, Hans Zimmerman flogged him in front of the other workers. The boy died. He was twelve years old.”
Jamie’s face filled with rage. “Sweet Jesus! I ordered a stop to flogging at all the mines.”
“I warned Zimmerman.”
“Get rid of the bastard.”
“We can’t find him.”
“Why not?”
“The blacks have him. The situation’s out of control.”
Jamie grabbed his hat. “Stay here and take care of things until I get back.”
“I don’t think it’s safe for you to go up there, Mr. McGregor. The native that Zimmerman killed was from the Barolong tribe. They don’t forgive, and they don’t forget. I could—”
But Jamie was gone.
When Jamie McGregor was ten miles away from the diamond field, he could see the smoke. All the huts at the Namib had been set to the torch. The damned fools! Jamie thought. They’re burning their own houses. As his carriage drew closer, he heard the sounds of gunshots and screams. Amid the mass confusion, uniformed constables were shooting at blacks and coloreds who were desperately trying to flee. The whites were outnumbered ten to one, but they had the weapons.
When the chief constable, Bernard Sothey, saw Jamie McGregor, he hurried up to him and said, “Don’t worry, Mr. McGregor. We’ll get every last one of the bastards.”
“The hell you will,” Jamie cried. “Order your men to stop shooting.”
“What? If we—”
“Do as I say!” Jamie watched, sick with rage, as a black woman fell under a hail of bullets. “Call your men off.”
“As you say, sir.” The chief constable gave orders to an aide, and three minutes later all shooting had stopped.
There were bodies on the ground everywhere. “If you want my advice,” Sothey said, “I’d—”
“I don’t want your advice. Bring me their leader.”
Two policemen brought a young black up to where Jamie was standing. He was handcuffed and covered with blood, but there was no fear in him. He stood tall and straight, his eyes blazing, and Jamie remembered Banda’s word for Bantu pride: isiko.
“I’m Jamie McGregor.”
The man spat.
“What happened here was not my doing. I want to make it up to your men.”
“Tell that to their widows.”
Jamie turned to Sothey. “Where’s Hans Zimmerman?”
“We’re still looking for him, sir.”
Jamie saw the gleam in the black man’s eyes, and he knew that Hans Zimmerman was not going to be found.
He said to the man, “I’m closing the diamond field down for three days. I want you to talk to your people. Make a list of your complaints, and I’ll look at it. I promise you I’ll be fair. I’ll change everything here that’s not right.”
The man studied him, a look of skepticism on his face.
“There will be a new foreman in charge here, and decent working conditions. But I’ll expect your men back at work in three days.”
The chief constable said, incredulously, “You mean you’re gonna let him go? He killed some of my men.”
“There will be a full investigation, and—”
There was the sound of a horse galloping toward them, and Jamie turned. It was David Blackwell, and the unexpected sight of him sounded an alarm in Jamie’s mind.
David leaped off his horse. “Mr. McGregor, your son has disappeared.”
The world suddenly grew cold.
Half the population of Klipdrift turned out to join in the search. They covered the countryside, looking through gulleys, ravines and klops. There was no trace of the boy.
Jamie was like a man possessed. He’s wandered away somewhere, that’s all. He’ll be back.
He went into Margaret’s bedroom. She was lying in bed, nursing the baby.
“Is there any news?” she demanded.
“Not yet, but I’ll find him.” He looked at his baby daughter for an instant, then turned and walked out without another word.
Mrs. Talley came into the room, twisting her hands in her apron. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. McGregor. Jamie is a big boy. He knows how to take care of himself.”