you get there, if you ever do, you will see true human misery. You will see cruelties that no American slave-owner would dream of. You will see the slaughter of human beings by war and disease and wild beast that will baulk your belief in heaven. Beside this savagery, the barracoons and the slave quarters are an earthly paradise. 'Do you dare suggest that by catching and chaining these poor creatures you do them favour? ' Robyn demanded, aghast at his effrontery. Have you ever visited a Louisiana plantation, Doctor? ' Then answering his own question, 'No, of course, you have not. I invite you to do so. Come down to Bannerfield as my guest one day and then compare the state of my slaves to the savage blacks you will see in Africa, or even to those dAmned souls that inhabit the slums and workhouses of your own lovely little green island.'
She remembered those raddled and hopeless human creatures with whom she had worked in the mission hospital. She was speechless. Then suddenly his grin was wicked again. 'Think of it only as forced enlightenment of the heathen. I lead them out of the darkness into the ways of God and civilization, just as you are determined to do, but my methods are more effective. 'You are incorrigible, sir.
'No, ma'am. I am a sea-captain and a planter. I am also a trader in, and an owner of, slaves, and I will fight to the death to defend my right to be all of those things.'
What right is that you speak of? she demanded. The right of the cat over the mouse, of the strong over the weak, Doctor Ballantyne The natural law of existence. 'Then I can only repeat, Captain St. John, that I will leave this ship at the very first opportunityI am sorry that is your decision. ' The hard fierce look in the yellow eyes softened a little. 'I wish it were otherwise. 'I shall devote my life to fighting you and men like you. )And what a waste that will be of a lovely woman.'
He shook his head regretfully. 'But then your resolve may give us reason to meet again, I must hope that is so. 'One final word Captain St. John, I shall never forgive last nightAnd I, Doctor Ballantyne, will never forget it.'
Zouga Ballantyne checked his horse at the side of the road, just before it crossed the narrow neck between the crags of Table Mountain and Signal Hill, one of its satellite promontories.
He swung down out of the saddle to rest his mount, for it had been a hard pull up the steep slope from the town, and he tossed the reins to the Hottentot groom who accompanied him on the second horse. Zouga was sweating lightly and there was a residual pulse of dullness behind his eyes from the wine he had drunk the night before, the magnificent rich sweet wine of Constantia, one of the most highly prized vintages in the world, but capable of delivering as thick a head as any of the cheap and common grogs they sold in the waterfront bars.
in the five days since they had disembarked, the friendliness of the Cape Colony citizens had almost overwhelmed them. They had slept only the first night at a public inn in Buitengracht Street, then Zouga had called upon one of the Cape Colony's more prominent merchants, a Mr. Cartwright. He had presented his letters of introduction from the directors of the Worshipful Company of London Merchants Trading into Africa, and Cartwright had immediately placed at their disposal the guest bungalow set in the gardens of his large and gracious home on the mountain slope above the old East India Company's gardens.
Every evening since then had been a gay whirl of dinners and dances.
Had Robyn and Zouga not insisted otherwise, the days would have been filled with equivalent frivolity, picnics, sailing and fishing expeditions, riding in the forest, long leisurely lunches on the lawns under spreading oak trees that reminded him so vividly of England.
However, Zouga had avoided these diversions and had managed to accomplish much of the work of the expedition. Firstly there had been the supervising of the unloading of equipment from Huron, in itself a major undertaking as the crates had to be swayed up from the hold and lowered into lighters alongside before making the perilous return through the surf to land on the beach at Ragger Bay.
Then he had to arrange temporary warehousing for the cargo. Here again Mr. Cartwright had been of assistance.
Still Zouga found himself fiercely resenting his sister's insistence that had made all this heavy work necessary. Damn me, Sissy, even Papa used to travel in the company of Arab slave-traders when he had to. If this fellow St. John is a trader, we would do well to learn all we can from him, his methods and sources of supply. No one could give us better information for our report to the society.'
None of his arguments had prevailed, and only when Robyn had threatened to write home to the Society's directors in London, and to follow that up with a frank talk to the editor to the Cape Times, had Zouga acceded, with the worst grace possible, to her demands.
Now he looked down longingly at Huron, lying well out from the beach, snubbing around on her anchor cable to point into the rumbustious south-easterly wind. Even under bare poles she seemed on the point of flight.
Zouga guessed that St. John would be sailing within days, leaving them to await the next ship that might be bound for the Arab and Portuguese coasts.
Zouga had already presented his letter of introduction from the Foreign Secretary to the Admiral of the Cape Squadron of the Royal Navy, and been promised all consideration.
Nevertheless, he spent many hours of each morning visiting the shipping agents and owners in the port in hope of an earlier passage. Damn the silly wench, he muttered aloud, thinking bitterly of his sister and her foibles. 'She could cost us weeks, even months.'
Time was, of course, of the very essence. They had to be clear of the fever-ridden coast before the monsoon struck and risk of malaria became suicidal.
At that moment there was the crack of cannon shot from the slopes of the hill above him, and as he glanced up he saw the feather of gunsmoke drifting away from the lookout station on Signal Hill.
The gunshot was to alert the townsfolk that a ship was entering Table Bay, and Zouga shaded his eyes with his cap as the vessel came into view beyond the point of land. He was not a seaman but he recognized instantly the ugly silhouette and single smoke stack of the Royal Naval gunboat that had pursued Huron so doggedly. Was it really two weeks ago, he wondered, the days had passed so swiftly. Black joke, the gunboat, had her boilers fired and a thin banner of dark smoke drifted away downwind as she rounded up into the bay, her yards training around as she pointed through the wind and she passed within half a mile of where Huron was already at anchor. The proximity of the two ships raised interesting possibilities of the feud between the two captains being revived, Zouga realized, but his immediate feeling was of intense disappointment. He had hoped that the vessel might have been a trader that could have offered the expedition further passage up the east coast - and he turned away abruptly, took the reins from the groom and swung up easily into the saddle. Which way? ' he asked the servant, and the little yellow-skinned lad in Cartwright's plum-coloured livery indicated the left branch of the road that forked over the neck and dropped down across the dragon's-back of the Cape peninsula to the ocean shore on the far side.
It was another two hours' ride, the last twenty minutes along a rutted cart track, before they reached the sprawling thatched building hidden away in one of the ravines of the mountain slope behind a grove of milkwood
