During the last two weeks Gaunt had been working hard in the City and
had made arrangements for relinquishing his active life. Tempting
propositions had been brought to him but they had been firmly refused,
and the general impression was that he had made sufficient money to
satisfy even his requirements and was about to retire.
There was no attempt to disguise from himself that the chief matter
with which he must deal was the Congo, and he brought all his intellect
to bear on the problem before him. But the difficulties seemed
well-nigh insurmountable.
Now that he knew his position, it was characteristic that he would
not discuss the matter with Drake until he could see daylight. The
suggestion that he should speak at the meeting was distasteful in the
extreme, but finally he decided that refusal was impossible.
When he faced the thousands of tense faces he was calm and collected.
“Have I your Grace’s permission to speak?” he asked of the Archbishop.
The latter rose and cleared his throat.
“My lords, ladies and gentlemen. Most of you know the name of John
Gaunt, and I feel sure that you will be interested in one who must
have unique knowledge of the subject we are discussing,” he said, and
resumed his seat.
“I thank your Grace, and promise that I will detain you for but a few
moments. I have listened attentively to all that you have said and
I tell you that the condition of affairs in the Congo has not been
exaggerated. I do not intend to shock you with horrors, but with my own
eyes I have seen men, women and even children murdered in cold blood,
maimed and tortured.”
He paused, for a hoarse murmur had arisen so that it was a few minutes
before he could continue.
“I admit that I myself have made money through labor which has been
procured by these means. My wealth is founded on the ‘red rubber’ which
has come from the Congo. I tell you this so that you shall know I am
quite honest in what I am about to say, for I shall speak against my
own pecuniary interests. You have been discussing the effects of the
annexation of the Congo by the Belgian government, and some of you have
expressed the hope that matters may be improved thereby.”
He paused, and the silence was intense.
“Your hopes are doomed to disappointment. There can be no improvement
in the conditions, for any improvement would necessitate the
abandonment of the slavery which exists. I said slavery—but it is
hardly the right word, for in modern history slavery has not meant work
forced by the fear of death or torture. Wherever the late King held
active sway, there the country was laid waste by the sword, and rubber
was produced not with any idea of the future but solely for immediate
gold. The abandonment of the present system can only be accomplished by
the abandonment of the Congo by the Belgians. That they will not do
unless compelled by superior force. Their present budget anticipates
a profit of nearly a million pounds. If the land and produce of the
soil be returned to the rightful owners—the natives—then, instead of
a profit, there would necessarily be a heavy deficit. When the Congo
budget provides for a deficit and not a huge profit, then and not
till then will you know that the natives are about to receive fair
treatment. That will occur only when the country has been drained
dry. If you hear that a portion of the country has been opened to
the foreigner, you will know that that portion is worthless, for the
population will either have been killed or have fled from the fear of
death, and the produce will have been exhausted.”
This statement made a profound impression, and all anxiously waited for
Gaunt to continue.
“You are seeking the amelioration of the natives. To accomplish this
you must remove the present officials. There must be no half measures
and I am convinced that no amount of talk will have the slightest
effect. Actions and not words are required, and it is for you to see
that England does more than talk. A single gunboat at the mouth of the
river would affect a change, while diplomatic representations will be
swept aside as has been done in the past. Surely England is strong
enough to act alone—or is it fear of Germany that ties her hands? If
this be the case, it is not the spirit that won our empire, and as a
race we are doomed. Let there be no more hesitation, let each of you
use his influence and bring pressure to bear upon our government.”
“We have already done everything in our power,” a bishop interrupted
vehemently.
“Then I fear that the reform of the Congo is impossible. But let us
make an effort. I am a rich man—rich, largely through the Congo—but,
if money is necessary, I am prepared to spend every penny piece of it
on this work. More than that, I now publicly announce that from this
moment I am the enemy of the governors of the Congo. Any ability that I
possess shall be used to affect reform.”
There was a murmur which developed into loud cheers, and there was a
look of defiance in Gaunt’s eyes as he listened.
“My lords, I feel that I owe you some personal explanation. You must
have viewed my appearance here with mingled feelings, for I am aware
that I am looked upon as one of the strongest supporters of the present
régime. You all know the name of Edward Drake, who has done such good
work in the East End of London, and I refer you to him should you
have any doubt as to the honesty of my intentions. It is owing to his
influence that I am here to-night.”
Gaunt paused for a moment and the Archbishop rose to his feet.
“I am sure that we have listened to Mr. Gaunt’s statement with profound
interest. From one point alone what he has said is invaluable. His
evidence will remove every shadow of doubt as to the atrocities that
have been and are taking place in the Congo. I must own frankly that
I looked always upon him as one of our bitterest enemies. I have been
ashamed to think that an Englishman could have profited by cruelty and
torture. Surely God must have brought him here to-night. We must all
admire the courage with which he has spoken. It was no light thing to
face us and frankly admit the sins of the past, and I honor him for
what he has done. He has taken the only course open to a Christian, for
he has promised to do his utmost to right the wrongs in which he has
been a participator. Before Mr. Gaunt resumes his seat, I should like
to ask him one question. Naturally he is in touch with the rulers of
the Congo—would it not be possible for him to use his influence with
them, to bring pressure to bear upon them that they should govern the
natives equitably?”
The Archbishop resumed his seat and Gaunt continued:
“No personal influence or pressure would effect any change. There is
only one effective weapon—force. The position of England has caused a
good deal of cynical amusement in the Congo. The British government
would only move if so great a feeling were aroused in this country that
they dared not do otherwise. Much has been done in recent years by
meetings and writings in the press; but the Congo is so far away that
the truth has never been driven home. The question of Tariff Reform or
Free Trade can rouse fierce passions, for the principle touches our
pocket; but that thousands of human beings should suffer torture—that
is a thing to read and be harrowed about—but a cup-tie is of much more
immediate importance. Perhaps I am unjust to my fellow countrymen,
for at times they have been aroused to white fury by the story of
oppression and murder. Witness the Armenian atrocities. But then there
was a great man with a silver tongue who could move a nation by his
words. And the only chance for the people of the Congo is that such
a man should rise again and tear from us our complacency. Make the
British people understand that they have been cleverly swindled. The
late King played the confidence trick upon America and the great powers
of Europe. He deliberately hoodwinked them with his tongue in his
cheek. But King Leopold was a master ‘crook.’ He was a born diplomat
of the most unscrupulous type; and to his dying day he was a match for
every foreign secretary that crossed swords with him. And he has left
worthy lieutenants behind. I dare prophesy that we shall again receive
the most specious promises that reform will take place at once—say in a
month or two; but the date will always be a few months ahead until they
have drained every grain of gold from this most unhappy country. Again
I say that I am prepared to spend my last penny in helping you in your
work.”
John Gaunt bowed and then stepped down from the platform. His face was
set as he walked straight to the place where he had been sitting.
“Where is my wife?” he asked of Drake who sat alone.
“She went away with Lady Ethel about five minutes ago,” Drake answered,
and his eyes were shining luminously as they rested on Gaunt.
“I think we had better follow them. Come along,” the latter said curtly.
And all eyes were fixed on Gaunt’s face as he strode from the hall.
When he drew near the door a cheer arose which gathered in volume until
it became deafening.
“Let us walk home,” Gaunt said quietly, and for a time they made their
way in silence.
“Mr. Gaunt, you were splendid,” Drake said in a low voice.
“I am glad that you are satisfied,” he answered drily. “Do you know why
my wife left?”
“No. She wouldn’t allow me to accompany her.”
“Do you think that she was angry? Did she say anything to you?”
“Nothing, but I thought that she was disturbed,” Drake answered
hesitatingly.
Gaunt once more lapsed into silence, and they walked rapidly along
until they reached his home.
“There is a gentleman waiting to see you, sir,” the footman said
deprecatingly.
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Braithwaite, sir. I told him that you were out, but he insisted
upon waiting. In fact I couldn’t get rid of him.”
Gaunt uttered an exclamation of impatience, and went at once to the
library.
“What are you doing here?” he asked roughly.
“Thank God you’ve come, Gaunt. You must let me make some money. We
haven’t had a meal for two days and the children are starving,”
Braithwaite said piteously. He was a broken man and tears were in his
eyes.
“I told you that I had helped you for the last time, and when I say——”
Gaunt stopped and an expression of dismay came to his face when he
remembered his vow.
“For pity’s sake——” Braithwaite appealed.
“No, for the sake of my word,” Gaunt answered as he drew a case from
his pocket from which he took a couple of bank notes. “Take these and
I’ll give orders that a basket shall be got ready for you. It’s too
late for shopping to-night. No thanks, please.”
“May God bless you,” Braithwaite said fervently, and he was crying
quietly.
But Gaunt made no reply.