Frank's Lagoon, where your great-grandfather buried the treasure he captured from the Dutch galleon the Standvastigheid. It's a fine anchorage guarded from the open sea by an entrance protected by rocky headlands. Here much further north is another great bay, which the Portuguese call Nativity Bay, or Natal.'
'But you don't have go downs built at these ports, Father,' Jim interjected. 'I know that they are desolate, deserted places, all of them.'
You're right, of course, Jim. But one of our schooners calls in at these places every six months or so, depending on the season and the winds. The natives know that we come regularly, and they wait for us there with hides, gum arable, ivory and other goods to trade.'
Jim nodded.
Tom went on, 'Because you have already been there, you will recognize any of those places on the coast when you reach it. You know where the mail stones are.' These were large brightly painted flat stones set at prominent places on shore under which visiting sailors could leave letters in waterproof tarpaulin packets to be found by other ships and carried on to the person to whom they were addressed. 'If you leave a letter there you know that I or your uncle will find it in time. We also will leave them for you, on the off-chance.'
'Or I could wait there for the next visit of one of our ships.'
'Yes, Jim, you could do that. But make sure it's not a VOC ship that you meet. By now Governor van de Witten will have a large bounty on your head and Louisa's too.'
They all looked serious as they considered the predicament in which the young couple now stood. Tom went on quickly to cover the pause: 'Before you reach the coast, however, you will have to cross hundreds, even thousands of leagues of virtually unexplored wilderness.' Tom spread his big scarred hand across the map. 'Just look what lies ahead of your wagons. It's an opportunity I've been hankering for all my life. This place where we are sitting now is as far into the interior as I have ever been able to travel.'
'You have nobody to blame for that but yourself, Thomas Courtney,' Sarah told him. 'I never stopped you, but you were always too busy making money.'
'And now it's too late. I'm getting old and fat.' Tom put on a lugubrious expression. 'But Jim here is going in my place.' He stared longingly at the map, then lifted his gaze across the plain to where the wagon train was rolling away in its own yellow dust cloud and murmured, 'You lucky devil, you are going to see places never before looked upon by civilized eyes.'
Then he returned his attention to the map. 'Over the years I have sought out every man, black, white and yellow, who was ever reputed to have travelled beyond the borders of the Cape colony. I questioned them exhaustively. When Dorian and I went ashore on our trading expeditions we interrogated the natives we traded with. I have written everything that I ever learned from these sources on to this map. I have spelled the names as they sounded in my ear. Here, in the margins and on the reverse side, I have made notes of every story and legend I was told, the names of the different tribes, their villages, kings and chiefs. Then I have tried to mark in the rivers, lakes and water-holes, but there was no way of telling the distances between them and their compass bearings from each other. You, Bakkat, Zama and Smallboy between
you speak a dozen or so native dialects. You will be able to hire guides and translators as you travel on and come in contact with new and unknown tribes.' Tom folded the map again and placed it back with reverential care in the tarpaulin case. He handed it to Jim. 'Guard it well, my boy. It will guide you on your journey.'
Then he went back to the dog-cart and brought out a hard leather case. He opened it and showed Jim what it contained. 'I would have liked you to have one of those newfangled chronometers that Harrison in London has so recently perfected, so that you could more accurately determine your latitude and longitude as you travel, but I have never even laid eyes on one, and they do say that even if you find one they cost five hundred pounds each. The same goes for one of John Hadley's reflecting quadrants. But here are my trusty old compass and octant. They belonged to your grandfather, but you know well how to use them, and with this copy of the Admiralty tables you will always be pretty sure at least of your latitude any time you can see the sun. You should be able to navigate to any of the places I have marked on the chart.'
Jim took the leather case from his father, opened it and lifted out the beautiful, complex instrument. It was of Italian manufacture. On top was the brass ring from which it could be suspended to establish its own level, then the rotating brass rings lovingly engraved with star charts, circles of latitude and a marginal circle of hours. The alidade, or diametral rule, which served as a sun sight, could pick up the sun's shadow, and throw it across the coinciding circles of time and latitude.
Jim fondled it, then looked up at his father. 'I shall never be able to repay you for all these wonderful gifts and for all you have done for me. I do not deserve such love and generosity.'
'Let your mother and me be the judge of that,' Tom said gruffly. 'And now we must start for home.' He called to the two servants who were returning to the colony with them. They ran to in span the draught horses to the dog-cart, and to saddle Tom's big bay gelding.
Up on Drumfire and Trueheart, Jim and Louisa rode beside the dogcart for almost a league, taking this last chance to repeat their farewells. When at last they knew they should go no further if they wanted to catch up with their own wagons before sunset, they lingered and watched the dog-cart dwindling across the dusty veld.
'He's coming back,' Louisa exclaimed, as she spotted Tom returning at a gallop. He reined in beside them again.
'Listen to me, Jim, my lad, don't you forget to keep a journal. I want you to record all your navigational notes. Don't forget the names of the native chiefs and their towns. Keep a lookout for any goods we might be able to trade with them in future.'
fe.
'Yes, Father. We have spoken about this already,' Jim reminded him.
'And the gold pans,' Tom went on.
'I will pan the sands of every riverbed we cross.' Jim laughed. 'I won't forget.'
'You remind him, Louisa. He is a scatterbrain, this son of mine. I don't know where he gets it from. Must be his mother.'
'I promise, Mr. Courtney.' Louisa nodded seriously.
Tom turned back to Jim. 'James Archibald, you look after this young lady. She is obviously a sensible girl, and much too good for you.'
At last Tom left them and rode off after the dog-cart, turning in the saddle every few minutes to wave back at them. They saw him rejoin the distant cart, and then suddenly Jim exclaimed, 'Name of the devil, I forgot to send my respects and farewells to Mansur and Uncle Dorian. Come on!' They galloped in pursuit of the cart. When they caught up with it they all dismounted and embraced again.
'This time we really are leaving,' Jim said at last, but his father rode back with them a mile before he could bring himself to let them go, and he waved them out of sight.
The wagons had long ago disappeared into the distance, but the tracks of their iron-rimmed wheels were scored into the earth, and as easy to follow as a signposted road. As the two of them rode along it the herds of spring buck were driven ahead of them like flocks of sheep, the smaller herds mingling with those ahead, until the land seemed to seethe and the grass was hidden beneath this living sea.
Other larger wild animals became part of this tide of life. Dark troops of gnu pranced and cavorted, shaking their shaggy manes, arching their necks like thoroughbreds and kicking their hind legs to the sky as they chased each other in circles. Squadrons of quagga galloped away in ranks, barking like packs of hounds. These wild horses of the Cape, striped like the zebra except for their plain brown legs, were so numerous that the Cape burghers killed them in thousands for their hides. They sewed them into grain bags and left the carcasses for the vultures and the hyenas.
Louisa looked upon this host with amazement. 'I have never seen such a marvelous sight,' she cried.
'In this land we are blessed with such multitudes that no man need stint himself or put up his gun until his arms are too exhausted to lift it,' Jim agreed. 'I know of one great hunter who lives in the colony. He destroyed three hundred head of big game in a single day, and rode four horses to a standstill to achieve it. What a feat that was.' Jim shook his head in admiration.
The campfires guided them to the laagered wagons in the last mile of
darkness, where Zama had the black iron kettle boiling and coffee beans freshly ground in the mortar.
Relying on his father's chart and navigational instruments, Jim steered the wagons north by east. The days fell into a natural rhythm, and became weeks, which in their turn became months. Each morning Jim rode out with Bakkat to spy out the land that lay ahead, and to find the next water-hole or river. He took his breakfast with him in the canteen slung with his bedroll on the back of his saddle, and Bakkat led a pack-horse to bring in any game they bagged.
Often Louisa was busy around the wagons, mending and cleaning, directing the servants in running her movable home the way she wanted, but most days she was free to ride out with Jim on Trueheart. From the beginning she was enchanted by the animals and birds that teemed in every direction she cast her eye. Jim taught her the names of all of them and they discussed their habits in detail. Bakkat joined in with an endless fund of facts and magical
