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'So you're suggesting Indians?'

'Couple of thousand of them, ten shillings a head, we won't know what to do with all the sugar. They've been a success in Mauritius and the West Indies. Why not Natal?'

'What am I to do?'

'The necessary laws have been passed. Now we must go to India and collect them in an orderly way. You did a fine job with those German chappies, and we're sure you can do the same with Indians.'

At his age, Richard would have preferred keeping close to De Kraal with his young grandson, but he had the energy to accept this arduous task, and when he learned that the queen herself had recommended him, he had to accept.

More than forty years had passed since he fought in India, and when his ship reached Madras he was struck by the changes, for he entered that port barely eighteen months after the terrible Indian Mutiny. That bloody uprising had been suppressed after grievous loss on both sides, and it was a jittery peace that prevailed.

'Soldiers that we trained,' an officer at Government House recited, 'turned against us. Burning, looting, murdering. And do you know why? Because of those damned bullets at Dumdum.' Noticing Saltwood's quizzical look, he added, 'The new cartridges for the Enfields were greased at one end and had to be bittenbefore use in muzzle loaders, that is. Rumor spread that the grease was pig fat, and the Muslims wouldn't touch it. Said we did it to humiliate their religion.'

'Our problem was red earth,' Saltwood muttered to himself.

'Whassat?'

'Our Kaffirs fought us because they needed red earth from one of our farms for their ceremonies. Hundreds died for red earth.'

More significant for Saltwood was the disappearance of John Company from the Indian scene. Even before the mutiny was quelled, Queen Victoria had signed the act which transferred the subcontinent to the crown, and after two centuries of deadly rivalry with the Dutch, the English company was dead.

'Maybe the businessmen should have retained power,' the officer said. 'Why?'

'They'd have dealt differently with the rebels.' The bitterness of the traditional colonial officer came through: 'A few of the leadersthe really bad ones who killed our peoplethey were hanged. But we have hundreds walking around with the blood of Englishmen on their hands. "Clemency Canning" they call our viceroy. By gad, his father, the real Canning, he'd have given them clemency at the end of a rope. Our Canning said it wouldn't do to make martyrs of them. More trouble than greased cartridges. Saltwood, I saw our women and children at Allahabadhacked to death or tossed into a well still breathing. "Clemency Canning," damn him.' Saltwood was to hear endless repetition of these complaints.

He was furiously busy during his stay at Madras, ironing out the hitches in the labor contracts, consulting with recruiting agents; nevertheless, he was able to accomplish his commission, and one afternoon he stood in a large compound at the edge of town where nine hundred Indians squatted on the ground, each praying that he would be chosen to fill one of the two hundred vacancies that would enable him to escape the poverty of India. In less than two hours Saltwood had made his selection, but as he strode out of the compound, the three Desai brothers grabbed at him: 'Please, Sahib, Great Master, we go to your country, too.'

'All places taken. You'll have to wait for the next ship.'

'Please, Great Sahib!' And in the time remaining before his departure, these Desais dogged his steps, walking for miles behind his carriage, waiting at the gates to Government House, desperately striving to keep themselves before him. They would nod, break a pathway for him through crowds, repeat their names, tug at his arm: 'Please, Great Sahib, it is a matter of life and death.'

And always they grinned, showing very white teeth. Eventually they wore Saltwood down, so that he asked the captain of the Limerick, 'Got space for three more?'

'Well, my friend,