A Dash from Diamond City
Fenn George Manville
English
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Below is a summary of A Dash from Diamond City
A Dash from Diamond City, by George Manville Fenn.
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The setting is South Africa, during the Boer war. Two young men are
sent from Mafeking with important despatches which they have to get back
to the General at Kimberley, travelling through Boer-occupied country,
and meeting with many mishaps. Just before they finally arrive they are
both severely wounded, and are unconscious for a fortnight. Luckily the
despatches, which had been sewn into a jacket, now filthy and
blood-stained, are still to be found, though there had been the idea
that the jacket would most probably have been thrown away, as it wasn't
at first anywhere to be found.
There are other threads in the story, for instance there's one about
illicit-diamond-dealing, and of course we meet Boers and Kaffirs, as
well as English people.
There is the usual well-written sequence of tense moments we get from
this author. A good read, and a nice audiobook if you prefer that.
NH
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A DASH FROM DIAMOND CITY, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
THREE WHITE ONES.
Tick, _tap, tap_--_tap, ticker_--_ticker--tapper_--_tapper_;
_tick_--_teck, tacker--tap_ went a typewriting machine, and
_scratch_--_scratch_ went two pens, in one of the minor offices
connected with that vast wealth-producing industry known as the De Beers
Diamond-Mines, where, seated at desk and table, three young men were
hard at work, one manipulating the typewriter, one writing a letter, and
the third making entries in a fat leather-covered book with broad bands
and a big letter distinguishing it upon the back.
The words: "minor office in a diamond-mine," naturally suggest wealth,
Turkey carpets, french-polished furniture, and plate-glass; but the
office in question was an example of simplicity, for its walls were mud
and its roof corrugated-iron, while the roughness of the interior was
only slightly softened down by a lining of what a carpenter calls
matchboarding. In spite of its vast wealth, Kimberley is still little
better than a moving camp, and holds out few prospects of ever becoming
a magnificent town.
The interior of that newly-created office, allowing for the tapping of
the typewriter and the scratching of the pens, was very quiet; but
outside there was the strange sound produced by the mingling of voices
with trampling feet and the distant whirr and rattle of machinery, till
a clock began striking, followed by the clangour of a bell, and then all
was changed.
"Time!" shouted the manipulator of the typewriter, springing from his
stool to stretch his wiry six feet of length, at the same time spoiling
a keen, manly face by distorting it with a yawn. The clerk who had been
bending over the thick account-book ceased making entries, applied the
blotting-paper, and closed the book with a bang, to turn round and
display a pink-and-white, fat, smooth face, disfigured by nearly white
eyebrows and lashes and curly whitey-brown hair. As he stood up he
yawned and wrinkled his fat face a good deal; but the wrinkles died down
into a smile which gave him a meek and mild appearance, the said smile
being doubled directly after by his taking a little round shaving-glass
out of his desk, propping it up by means of a contrivance behind, and
then, by the help of a pocket-comb, proceeding to rearrange his hair,
which, from the resistance offered, appeared to be full of knots and
kinks.
The last to leave his desk was a manly-looking young fellow who appeared
to be twenty, but who possessed documentary evidence that he was only
eighteen. He neither stretched nor yawned, but drew himself up with a
sigh of relief, and, after carefully locking up the letters he had
written, he turned to the typist.
"Going out, Ingleborough?" he said.
"Yes; I shan't be long. I must go on to the compound. Back in--"
"Five minutes?" dashed in his questioner.
"No; that I shan't," said the young man smartly; "but I will not exceed
fifteen. Get out my rifle and belts, West."
"All right," was the reply, and as the door closed the young clerk
crossed to a plain deal cupboard in the corner of the office, threw open
the broad door, and revealed an arms-rack with some twenty of the
newest-pattern rifles standing ready for use, and bayonets and
bandoliers to match each breech-loading piece.
A peculiarly innocent baby-like look came over his companion's face as
he opened his desk and took out a little flat oblong mahogany case and
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