SOUTH AFRICA
* * * * *
January 1st, 1896. We have begun the New Year badly! The hurricane blast
I predicted has burst out in the form of a denunciatory message from
President Cleveland upon the subject of the Venezuela claims. Though it
was very unstatesmanlike of Cleveland to word his message with such
violence, we have given some provocation.
Time after time have various Secretaries of State written, urging us to
come to some agreement with the Venezuelan Government, and offered their
friendly arbitration, or mediation, as it was not conducive to good-will
between us and the Americans, to have such long-standing grievances
acting as an irritant between the Americans and the English people.
Secretary Bayard’s letter of appeal ought to have moved us to instant
action, on account of its undoubtedly friendly sentiments, written with
such earnestness and kindly feeling. The turning of a deaf ear to such a
letter as this no doubt made the Americans believe that nothing but a
thunder-clap, such as Cleveland has given, would rouse us to consider
the matter seriously.
The English papers have been quite taken aback by it; and, here and
there, some fools are talking of resistance! One man, who holds a high
office in the State, talked to me last night of the manner we should
fight the Americans! Poor old soul, he did not expect the contempt with
which I extinguished his martial ardour. Why! if Venezuela and Guiana
were both wiped out of the map, America and England would suffer from it
far less than from recent speculative dishonesty. In addition to this
shock from America, we are considerably disturbed by the Armenian
atrocities, and what action we might be urged to take in behalf of the
oppressed Armenians. The Radicals are very bellicose, and would applaud
Lord Salisbury if he sent a fleet up the Dardanelles. To-day, we have
news that Dr. Jameson has invaded the Transvaal, with a small force
between four hundred and six hundred strong! The details are meagre, but
the impression is that he is alone in this wild escapade. A ‘Sun’
interviewer has asked me my opinion in the matter, and I have said
frankly that it is our duty to drive him back quicker than he went in.
It is not so very long ago that I entertained both Jameson and Rhodes
here. I never suspected that either of them would have been concerned in
such a harum-scarum act as this!
July 7th, Tuesday. Dined with Mr. and Mrs. Yates Thompson. The Jameson
Raid was very much discussed; and I found myself, in this instance,
quite in accord with the Radicals whom I met there.
July 9th. Dined with Lord James of Hereford. I was surprised at his
saying that there were extenuating circumstances for Jameson’s act, but
it is evident that his legal acumen is awry. Under no circumstances
would we profit by this Raid, however successful it might have been.
* * * * *
Stanley greatly rejoiced at the arrival of our little boy, Denzil, and
bought picture-books for him, and toys suited to a child of four! In
1896, during a long and serious illness, what best pleased Stanley was
to have the baby placed beside him on the bed. One day, when the child
was there, Stanley looked up at me and said, ‘Ah, it is worth while now
... to get well!’
It was these frequent attacks of gastralgia, or gastritis, complicated
by malaria, which made me so dread his returning to Africa. After our
marriage, I felt no security. He himself thought he would have to go
back to the Congo, for a time, ‘to put things right.’ But I knew that he
ought never to return there.
Stanley was constantly being attacked by fever and these internal pains,
which came without any warning, and with such intensity, that breathing
was impeded. The first attack was in the Forest of Central Africa, and
he describes his illness in ‘Darkest Africa,’ an illness attributable,
possibly, to the poor diet, and, afterwards, to starvation.
Two days before our marriage he was taken ill, in the same way, an
illness that lasted many weeks.
During Stanley’s malaria attacks, the shivering preceding the hot stage
was so violent that the bed he lay on would shake, and the glasses on
the table vibrate and ring. I might come in from a walk, and, not seeing
Stanley in his library, run upstairs to his room, and find him in bed,
covered with blankets, quilts, even great-coats; with chattering teeth,
and hurried speech, he would bid me get hot-water bottles to pack round
him. Then, when the cold fit had passed, and the heat had reached its
maximum, he would speak to me re-assuringly, and tell me not to fear,
that all would be well; that it was only ‘Africa in me,’ and I must get
the quinine ready. The terrible sweating over, he would take twenty to
twenty-five grains of quinine, and ... wait! So I came to know exactly
what to do; but I vowed, in my heart, that he should never return to the
country which had taken so much of his splendid vitality; for Stanley
had had three attacks of hæmaturic fever, in Africa, and more severe
malaria fevers than he could number.
In June, 1896, we arranged to visit Spain, as he wanted to show me
Madrid, Toledo, etc., etc.; but, in the train, four hours before we got
to Madrid, he was seized with one of these mysterious gastric attacks,
and when we arrived, soon after midnight, he was hardly conscious, from
extreme pain.
I could not speak Spanish, and knew no one in Madrid. We went to the
principal hotel, on the Puerta del Sol; and there I waited till morning,
when a clever Austrian doctor came to my assistance, but there seemed
little we could do. Day by day, Stanley grew weaker; and, at last, in
desperation, I decided, ill as he was, to get him back to England. By
the time we reached Paris, Stanley was rather better, and, for two days,
he was free from the pain and intermittent fever. But it was only a
short lull, for the spasms returned, with redoubled violence, and it was
with the greatest difficulty that I succeeded in getting him back to our
home in London.
There, I nursed him for three months, until he gradually recovered. Thus
he would enjoy spaces of perfect health, with intervals of the old
trouble. I think Stanley feared nothing in the world as he feared those
first ominous stabs of pain; but when the spasms were steadily
recurrent, and no doctor could give him any relief, Stanley accepted the
pain and weakness, silently and stoically. Here, for instance, is an
entry in his Journal, in 1897:--
* * * * *
Pain has commenced--unable to take even milk without sickness; am
resigned for a long illness--it is now inevitable; shall not be able to
attend Parliament again this Session.
* * * * *
I knew by the sound of his voice, when he called me in the middle of the
night, that the pain had come; sometimes it left quite suddenly, and we
looked at each other, I, pale with fear, lest it should return. In 1897,
the attack recorded above did not last, as he had feared, but, in 1898,
at Cauterets, in the Pyrenees, he was again taken ill. He writes in his
Journal, August 15th:--
* * * * *
Felt the first severe symptoms of a recurring attack. Have had two
attacks of fever, and now have steady pain since Sunday night, but rose
to-day.
August 17th, LUCHON. On arriving, went to bed at once, for my pains
threatened to become unbearable.
September 11. BIARRITZ. All I know of Luchon is what I have gained
during two short walks in the intervals of illness. On arriving here, I
went straight to bed.
October 1st.--Left Biarritz for Paris; have been in bed the whole time.
October 10th.--Have been ill all the time in Paris; returned to London
after the dreadful holidays.
* * * * *
When we returned to London, I felt very near despair, the starvation
diet Stanley was kept on, had now reduced him to such a state of
weakness he could not sit up in bed. Skilful massage, however, and an
immediate, generous diet, restored Stanley, as by magic, to perfect
health. I return now to the Journal for 1896.
* * * * *
December 21st, 1896. BRIGHTON. Warmest greetings to darling little
Denzil, our own cherub! Possibly, I think too much of him. If I were not
busy with work and other things, I should undoubtedly dwell too much on
him, for, as I take my constitutional, I really am scarce conscious that
I am in Brighton. For, look where I may, his beautiful features,
lightened up with a sunny smile, come before my eyes all the time! I see
him in your arms, and I marvel greatly at my great happiness in
possessing you two! Believe it or not, as you like, but my heart is full
of thankfulness that I have been so blessed.
Denzil is now inseparable from you--and you from him.--Together, you
complete the once vague figure of what I wished; and now the secret of
my inward thoughts is realised, a pre-natal vision, embodied in actual
existence.
Now take up Denzil, look full into his angelic face, and deep down into
those eyes so blue, as if two little orbs formed out of the bluest
heaven were there, and bless him with your clean soul, untainted by any
other thought than that which wishes him the best God can give him. At
present, he is of such as are the beings of God’s heaven, purity
itself.--May he grow to noble manhood and serve God zealously!
* * * * *
Stanley left Southampton on October 9, 1897, per Union steamer ‘Norman,’
for South Africa, to assist in the opening of the Bulawayo Railway, by
invitation of the citizens of Bulawayo.
* * * * *
October 13th, 1897, on Board. There are several wee things in arms on
board, and I shake hands with them all in turns, every morning, as my
‘devoir’ to our Denzil. The white frocks remind me of him. A baby
cries,--there is a child at home, with just such a voice, sometimes; and
then he trots into memory’s view, looks up brightly, and is gone. I can
get a hundred views of him in a minute; it is, in fact, a mental
kinematograph, and thus I see him continually floating in and out of my
recollection. You are, alternately, recalled. My last thoughts on going
to sleep are of you. I mutter a prayer; commit you to God, take another
glance at the little baby-face, and am asleep.
S. S. NORMAN, October 25th, 1897. Ah--my dear! a little baby, nine
months old, was buried yesterday morning at eight--she died from
meningitis! She was perfectly well, until long after we passed Cape
Verd. I had often encountered the father carrying his little girl, and
dancing her gently up and down in his arms. He was a picture of
happiness. Then the baby pined and sickened; for two days there was
great anxiety; the third day there was but little hope left, and, in the
night, the child died. The next morning the little body was consigned to
the everlasting deep!
* * * * *
After visiting Rhodesia, Stanley took a short tour, through the Orange
Free State, the Transvaal, and Natal. I can only give brief selections
from his letters to me, giving, however, in full, his letter describing
Krüger, which, for discernment of character, and political foresight, is
certainly most remarkable, having been written to me two years before
the war.
* * * * *
JOHANNESBURG, November 20th, 1897. Dined at the Club, where I learnt
several lessons. In Bulawayo, Englishmen had rather an exalted feeling,
as of men who had suddenly been made rich, and whose prospects were
delightful. In Johannesburg, the feeling is different. I find them
subdued, querulous, and recriminatory. They blame everybody but
themselves. They recapitulate their failures to obtain justice, the
indifference of the English colonial policy. They tell instances of Boer
oppression, corruption, tyranny, and hypocrisy, with grinding teeth, and
do not forget to allude to the mistakes of Jameson, the tactlessness,
folly, and unhappy consequences of the Raid; but they are silent as
regards their own conduct, and seem to think they are as hardly dealt
with by the British Government, as by Krüger and his handful of
oligarchs.
I wish I could repeat, word for word, what I have been told in very
eloquent language; but, as I could not take my note-book out at the
dinner-table, I can only say that I have been much impressed with all I
have heard, and feel genuine sympathy for them, which makes me reluctant
to wound them; but, the truth is, there are too many leaders, and each
leader pulls a contrary way to his fellows; consequently, they have no
concrete, well-considered policy. I quite agree with them that our
Government is to blame for allowing the Convention to be broken so
repeatedly; and that their action is not what that of the Germans would
have been, for instance, had they so many subjects maltreated, and
desired their Treaty rights.
But, though I would speak strongly of the weakness of England, I think
that the Uitlanders are also to blame in not acting in concert, upon a
well-arranged plan, compelling Krüger to come out of his shell, and
force things quicker to an issue between England and the Transvaal.
I am assuming, of course, that the Johannesburgers feel all that they
say, about oppression, tyranny, their feeling of desperation, etc.,
etc.; but all their pitiful tales of distresses endured, injuries
inflicted on persons of property, audacious breaches of the Convention,
and so on, will not induce England to wake up to her duty, nor
move the Government to action. A Government, even that like the
Salisbury-Chamberlain, at present in power, must have strong excuses to
sanction an undertaking that may cost millions of money, and thousands
of lives. It will certainly be no child’s play to use compulsion on a
man like Krüger. They would rather endure much than go to war; and yet,
if the Uitlanders let the Unionists go out of office, without convincing
them that they ought no longer to endure this state of things, they must
try other things than mere telegraphic reports to the newspapers.
At the dinner-table, I told them all very frankly my opinion on the
matter; and said, ‘I was reminded of the words, “It is expedient that
one man should die for many.”’ ‘That is to say,’ I explained, ‘English
people cannot be moved by these reports of breaches of the Convention.
You must convince them that the sense of your injuries is so great you
are willing to brave death rather than bear with what you consider
intolerable.’ ‘But how can we do anything?’ they asked. ‘We are not
allowed arms; not even a pistol is allowed to come to the Transvaal.’
‘You do not want arms of any kind,’ I said. ‘I have seen enough to know
that you could not do much with arms. You do not even want a pen-knife,
as a weapon of offence. You simply want to prove to England your
grievances are real, and your patience exhausted. Let England see that
you dare to resist this iniquitous rule under which you suffer; and that
you are defying the powers that be, risking liberty and property; and
her opinion will be swiftly changed. Let every instance wherein you
think you are wronged--which you can prove is against the Convention--be
marked by resistance, not active, but passive. You called the Convention
just now the charter of your rights: on the strength of these rights,
let your resistance be based. The Boer officials will demand why such
conduct; you will calmly say. They will pooh-pooh, and threaten you; you
will refuse compliance. They will use compulsion of a kind; they will
imprison or expel you. There will be ten, twenty, forty, a hundred
examples of this punishment. The Uitlanders should continue the same
resolute attitude of resistance, yielding not a jot.
‘The Boers will soon perceive that this is serious; rather than expel a
whole population, they must either come to terms, or try what violence
can do. If the latter, some of you must become martyrs to your sense of
what is right. Those martyrs will buy the freedom of the others, for
England will be calling to arms. We all know that England ought to have
acted as became her on the first breach of the Convention; but she
resorted to discussion, and in discussion, at length, she has been
beaten. Time, and time again, has the Convention been broken; and the
answers England gave to all of them, are--a pile of Blue-books! The
Boers can go on at that game for ever. The Boer head has become very
big. The self-esteem of Krüger has grown intolerably large, to reduce
which will require something more than reason. But you know, whether
with an individual or a nation, how hard it is to suddenly change from
courteous argument to the deadly arbitrament of force. Something is
wanted to rouse the passions to that pitch. I know of nothing that will
do it quicker than an act of violence by the Boers. When the Boers
resort to violence, it will be all up with them. If I know anything of
the English character, the first act of violence will not be committed
by them,’ etc., etc.
Colonel Saunderson, who was a fellow-guest, agreed with all I said.
As we walked to the Grand Central Hotel, it was the Colonel’s opinion
that the Uitlanders were not of that stuff from which martyrs are made.
I agree, but, ‘even worms will turn.’
November 23rd, 1897. Took train for Pretoria. I had a letter of
introduction to Mr. Marks, of Lewis & Marks, who took me to a kind of
bachelor house he keeps.
November 24th. Mr. Marks took me to President Krüger’s house at 5.30
A.M. It is an unusually early time to visit, but the old man is an early
riser, and is at his best in the morning.
He was sitting on the stoep, with two old Members of the Rand, taking
his coffee, before leaving on an electioneering journey. When Marks told
him of my desire for an interview, he motioned my conductor to take me
to the reception saloon, which opened out on the stoep. A grandson of
Krüger’s showed me a chair. It happened to be directly in front of a
full-length portrait of the President, so I was forced to look with
wonder at the bad painting, and libellous likeness of the man I had come
to see.
Presently Krüger came in, and seated himself under his portrait. Now, as
he was the man who held the destinies of South Africa in his hand, I
regarded him with interest, in order to divine what the future would be,
from what I could gather of his character, by studying his features,
gestures, and talk. In the past, I have often made fair guesses at the
real man. As reporter, special correspondent in several campaigns, and
in various cities, and as traveller over five continents, I have had
opportunities enough; I found, when in the presence of African chiefs of
whose language I was ignorant, that, long before the interpreter had
spoken, I had rightly guessed what the chiefs had said, and I could
often correct the interpreter. When two civilized men meet, both being
strangers, absolutely independent, unconcerned, uninterested in each
other further than mere civility requires, the little points that
betray character, mood, or temper are not seen; and the disposition of
human nature in general is to put the most civil construction possible
upon one’s fellow-creatures and their ways.
While the morning greetings were being interchanged, and my eyes kept
glancing from Krüger’s face to that of the portrait, the real man
appeared loveable, compared with the portrait. His features, though
terribly plain and worn, were amiable and human; and, if I had gone away
after this, I would have carried with me the ordinary impression, which
I have seen countless times in newspapers, that Krüger was not a bad
kind of man; a little obstinate, perhaps, but, on the whole,
well-meaning, and so on. But, in order to get a glimpse of the possible
future of the relations between him and the Uitlanders, I began to
praise Johannesburg, its growth, and the enterprise of the people, and I
asked Mr. Krüger whether or not things were settling down more
peacefully now. This was the beginning of an interview which, while it
lasted, revealed Krüger, the man, sufficiently to me; so that if he were
an African chief, and I had dealings with him, it would have taught me
_exactly what to do_, and how to provide against every eventuality.
In short, I soon saw that he was a choleric and passionate old man,
uncommonly obstinate, determined within himself that his view was the
right one, and that no peaceful issue could be expected, unless his
demands were complied with, and most implicit trust given to his word.
Now, if the welfare of my expedition were at stake, and I thought my
force was equal to his, or enough to enable me to inflict severe
punishment upon him should he attempt to carry out his passionate words,
I should not have parted from him without some better guarantee than
trust in his mere word; and, if the guarantee would not be given, I
should have gone away with the feeling that the old man meant mischief,
and that it was incumbent on me to take every precaution against him.
Mr. Krüger’s manner changed immediately I had mentioned Johannesburg and
its people. His voice and its varying intonations, every line in his
face, betrayed the strongest resentment; and, when I suggested that the
smallest concessions to their demands would modify that attitude of
hostility to him which angered him, he became the incarnation of fury,
and his right hand went up and down like a sledge-hammer, and from his
eyes, small and dull as they were, flashed forth the most implacable
resolve that surrender must be on their side, not his!
When an old man like this,--he is seventy-four,--who, for the last
sixteen years, at least, has had his own way, and been looked up to by
Boer and Uitlander, as the ‘man of the situation,’--when he has made up
his mind upon having something, it is not likely that any other course
than his own can he believe to be the right one. When we think of what
has happened these last sixteen years--his visits to London, his
negotiations in Pretoria and London concerning the Convention, the way
everyone, Englishman and Boer, has yielded to him, the adulation paid to
him for his success, one cannot wonder that he believes that in this
matter of the Uitlander’s rights, as in the things that went before,
_his_ methods, _his_ style, and _his_ way are the best and safest!
This has begotten in him an arrogance so large that, before he can be
made sensible that he is wrong, his fierce pride must be humbled; his
head has grown so big with this vain belief in his prowess in battle.
His victories over Gladstone, Lord Salisbury, and others of the same
calibre, the implicit trust of the Boers in him, and in his
unconquerability, have been such, that, I am convinced, there is no room
in that brain for one grain of common-sense to be injected into it.
His whole behaviour seems to say very clearly to the observer, ‘What do
I care for your Chamberlain, with his Milners and Greenes? They shall
yield to me first. I don’t care a snap of the finger for them; let them
do their worst; better men than they have tried and failed, and they
will fail too.’ The unmitigated contempt for people who try conciliation
has only to be seen in Krüger, for one to know that the old man is an
impossible creature; and that he is only made implacable and fierce by
beseeching and conciliating.
A recollection of the telegram asking ‘How is Mrs. Krüger?’ almost made
me laugh aloud, in Krüger’s presence. _Such_ a telegram, to _this_ kind
of man!! Why! if a strong man, armed, and covered with impenetrable
armour, were to suddenly rise in Krüger’s sight, and boldly advance, and
seize him by the scruff of the neck, and shake him, until a little of
that wind of vanity, that has so inflated him, escaped, he would not
have long to wait before Krüger would be amenable to reason and decent
conversation! But the fellow must find himself faced by force!
An exchange of opinions is now impossible, as he flies directly into a
passion at the mere suggestion that a different kind of treatment to the
Uitlanders would secure to him the Presidency for life, and remove all
fear of friction. For it is something connected with his own
self-interest, probably a fear that the votes of the Uitlanders would
upset him from the Chair he fills, drive him out of the house he
occupies, diminish his importance and his affluent income,--all this is
at the bottom of his extreme irascibility and stormy impatience when the
Uitlanders are mentioned.
The interview did not last twenty-five minutes, but I had seen enough,
and heard more than enough, to convince me that this was an extreme
case, which only force could remedy.
You ask me to describe Krüger minutely. Well, he is very like his
photographs; I should know him among ten thousand in the street; but to
see and talk with him reveals scores of little things no photographs can
give. You have seen lots of stout-bodied old Parisian concierges; and I
dare say you have seen them in their seedy black clothes, when going out
on a visit; put a little top-hat on one of them, give him stooping
shoulders, with a heavy, lumbering, biggish body, and you will know
Krüger at once! Well! let him sit _vis-à-vis_ to you; put much obstinacy
into a face that is unusually large, with an inch of forehead and two
small eyes; let the figure sink in his chair, with an attitude of
determination in every line, and give him a big briarwood pipe, which is
held in his left hand, and there you have him!
Aged statesmen are liable, at a certain age, to develop symptoms of the
refractoriness and arbitrariness of disposition which eventually makes
them unsuitable for the requirements of the country, and impossible to
their colleagues in the Cabinet. Well, ‘that’s what’s the matter’ with
Krüger! He is quite past reasoning with. Neither Mr. Chamberlain, nor
Sir Alfred Milner, nor Mr. Greene, will ever succeed with him; and I
don’t know any three men who so deserve to succeed as they. They are all
capital fellows, brilliant, able, and deserving. Mr. Chamberlain has a
deal of perseverance and convictions of his own; but, ten minutes’ talk
with Krüger would give him the knowledge, at first-hand, that one should
have to be able to deal effectively with a political opponent; and, as
Sir Alfred Milner has not seen Krüger either, these two able men are
really dealing haphazard with the President.
What amazes me is the extraordinary hopefulness of the men I meet. Many
residents here have seen and known Krüger intimately; and yet, no sooner
has one project for getting their rights been baffled, than they have
some new scheme afoot. They have tried everything but the right thing,
and will continue to do so. If Englishmen on the spot hardly realise the
Boer cunning and determination, how impossible it is for the Englishman
at home to do so!
Well! much talk with all kinds of South Africans and my talk with Krüger
has opened my eyes to the perplexities of the situation. I heartily pity
the Colonial Secretary, and I foresee that the Transvaal will continue
to disturb his Office. The Boers of the Cape, the Boers of the Orange
Free State, and the Boers of the Transvaal, will combine, if any
inconsiderate step is taken by the Colonial Office.
What, then, is to be done? Keep still and be patient! Nothing more; for
these people of South Africa, English and all, are exasperatingly
contentious. The longer we are quiet, the more irascible they will get
with each other; our cues must be obtained from South Africa, and if the
Johannesburgers want us to help them, they must be braver, more united,
and more convinced of the inutility of their unaided efforts; nay, were
every Englishman and Afrikander in South Africa united, they could not
alone, unaided, stand against the Boers.
Krüger will plod on his vindictive way, and he must, in time, wear out
the Johannesburgers’ patience. They will do something to rouse the Boer
temper; there will be some attack by the Boers,--confiscation of
property, of territory. We shall be asked if we are indifferent to our
countrymen’s distress, and so ... the cup will be full, and the time
will have come. That is the only way I see whereby the Transvaal is to
be saved from King Krüger.
Mind you, this is Krüger’s fourth term of office that he is seeking.
Twenty years! Rule for so long a time makes for Despotism; and, in an
old man of his unbending nature, it makes for an accumulation of
mistakes, caused by temper, arrogance, and conceit; it makes for the
usual political calamity which precedes the salvation of a country or
nation.
Marks and I left the house, and while Krüger hastened to get ready for
his electioneering journey, I was being shewn the way to the Pretoria
Club, where I was cordially received, and inducted into the opinions of
other residents of the Boer capital.
I have met no one who can give me what I should call an intelligent idea
of the outcome of this tension between the Boers and British. They all
confine themselves to commonplace things and ideas. Krüger, Reitz,
Joubert, whom I have seen to-day, are concerned only with what they
want, and must have. Leyds, Kotze, Marks, are all afraid to engage in a
discussion of any kind, and are really the most unlikely people to do
so. The Club people, not knowing who may be listening, do not care to
talk, and drop into monosyllables when politics are broached, though,
with officious zeal, they allowed me to see, that, in their opinion, the
Transvaal was ever so much better in many respects than England. Marks
is a broker, who looks after certain interests of the President.
The population dwelling in the hollow below the dominating heights
around, which are bristling with cannon, I presume have no thoughts
worth anything, and are filled with content every time they look up at
those defiant forts above their city.
I went to see Conyngham Greene, the English Political Resident here. He
has a very nice house, situated in charming surroundings of green lawns
and flowering shrubberies, and he is himself very agreeable and
pleasant. He is too young to have any profound view into the meaning of
things. I dare say he does his duty efficiently, which is to report, day
after day, upon the state of affairs, as he believes it to be; but,
though this may be satisfactory to his chief, the High Commissioner, Sir
Alfred Milner, Mr. Greene’s opinions appear to be far from being decided
one way or the other. My impression is, that he thinks the present
tension is not likely to last long, that it is a mere phase, consequent
upon the sore feelings caused by the Jameson Raid; and, in short, that,
though Krüger appears somewhat unappeasable and unrelenting, at present,
he is sure to come round, by and by. It is so like what I have heard in
England and at the Cape. ‘Yes, Krüger is terribly obstinate, but he is a
dear old fellow, you know, all the same; and he will be all right, give
him time.’
But that is not _my_ opinion. Krüger is not that sort of man at all! He
must meet his master, and be _overcome_.
* * * * *
The week before I arrived at the Cape, that is to say, only a few weeks
ago, Sir Alfred Milner made a speech in Cape Colony, wherein he is
reported to have said that it was all ‘humbug and nonsense for anyone to
say that reconciliation was impossible, and that to expect good feeling
between the two races was hopeless.’ It may be supposed that he was only
re-echoing what Mr. Conyngham Greene had written in his reports.
Mr. Chamberlain has spoken in the same spirit, in the House of Commons,
because of Sir Alfred Milner’s views as conveyed to him in despatches. I
feel positive that if Sir Alfred Milner and Mr. Chamberlain were to see
Krüger, face to face, they would drop that sanguine, optimistic tone,
and quickly and resolutely prepare for a storm.
Despite all the wish that Chamberlain, Milner, and Greene may be right,
the good-will I feel to all three of them, and the belief in their
abilities, an _inner voice_ tells me that they are all three wrong, that
the Johannesburgers who share their views are living in a fool’s
paradise. Krüger will never, no never, give way to anything that is no
harder than mere words! The man must be made to bow that inflexible
spirit to a temper that is more hardened, a spirit that is more
unyielding, and a force capable of carving its way, undeviatingly, to
its object. Whence that force will come, it is impossible to say. I feel
very much afraid that it will not come from England. England is losing
her great characteristics, she is becoming too effeminate and soft from
long inactivity, long enfeeblement of purpose, brought about by
indolence and ease, distrust of her own powers, and shaken nerves. It is
at such times that nations listen to false prophets, cranks, faddists,
and weak sentimentalists.
It will take time, anyhow, to convince England that she ought to do
anything; it will take her still longer to provide the means for doing
her duty effectively; it will take longer still to understand the nature
and bigness of the task which it is her bounden duty to undertake, and
so be in a position to say with the necessary firmness of voice to
Krüger, that he must come to terms, _immediately_!
People in England, for some reason, cannot be induced to believe in the
reality of the Johannesburg grievances; they profess to regard them as a
community of Jewish speculators in mines; and even the failure to assist
Jameson in the Raid, etc., etc., has, unfortunately, rather deepened
disbelief in their complaints, which they please to consider as nothing
more than the usual methods resorted to by Stock-Exchange speculators to
advertise their wares, and alarm investors, so that for their own ends
they may make a ‘grand coup!’ But both Jew and Christian now are of the
same mind as to the hopelessness of their condition, unless Krüger can
be made to conform to the terms of the Convention of 1884.
Of course, it is possible that England may be roused to action sooner
than expected, by some act of the Uitlanders. I believe that if the
English people were to hear that the Uitlanders in their desperate state
had resolved upon braving Krüger and his Boers to the death, and would
show the necessary courage to bear martyrdom, conviction would come
quicker to English minds than from years of futile despatch-writing. If
the Uitlanders thus braved him, I feel sure that Krüger would deal with
them in the harshest and most summary way, and, in doing so, he would be
simply setting every instrument at work required to open the eyes and
ears of Englishmen to his obdurate, implacable, and cruel nature; and,
once they were convinced of this, Krüger’s downfall would not be far
off.
Now, of course, after the insight I have gained into the heart of the
question, I confess I am not free from feeling a large contempt for my
countrymen for being so slow-witted and deaf to the cries of the
Uitlanders; and, yet, as I write this, I cannot see why I should feel
such contempt for them, for certainly my own sympathies were but
sluggish when first I accepted this opportunity of coming to South
Africa. To speak the truth, they were not so keen as to wish England
might go to war with the Transvaal. But now I see things in a different
light, and I shall carry away with me from the Transvaal, a firm
conviction that the English people have been systematically misled about
Krüger and his Boers. Gladstonianism, and that gushing, teary tone
adopted by the sentimental Peace-at-any-price section of our nation, are
solely responsible for the persecutions and insults to which our people
have been subject, since 1884, in the Transvaal. If it should come to
fighting, there will be much killing done, and _this will be entirely
due to sentimentalists at home_.
The self-interest of men, who would be self-seekers even under the heel
of the tyrant, has also largely contributed to mislead the people.
Cowardice actuates those who would coax Krüger out of his sulks, and
prefer to fawn on him instead of resenting his cruel treatment of his
fellow-countrymen. They profess to believe in the piety of the Boers,
and their love of peace; they dwell on Krüger’s attachment to the Bible,
and believe him to be a ‘dear, good old fellow,’ likely at any time to
amaze the world by generous and just conduct.
Within a few hours, I believe I could carve a fair likeness of Krüger
out of a piece of tough wood, because no Michael Angelo is needed to do
justice to his rugged features and ungainly form, and I would be willing
to guarantee that justice to the English would be sooner given by that
wooden image than it will be by Mr. Krüger; on that I pin my faith in my
perception of what is Krüger’s true character.
Were either Russia, or Germany, in our position towards South Africa,
things could not have come to this pass. Certainly the American
Government would not have remained so long blind, not only to duty, but
to the ordinary dictates of common-sense, as we have been.
A respectable third of the nation, I fancy, feel very much as I do upon
the South African question; another third may be said to prefer letting
Krüger do just what he pleases, on the ground that no South African
question can be of sufficient importance to risk the danger of giving
offence to the stubborn old fellow; and, if the question were put to
them, point-blank, as to whether we should try and compel Krüger to
abide by the terms of the Convention, or fight him, I feel sure they
would say let South Africa go, rather than fight!
The remaining third comprises the nobodies, the people of the street,
the mob, people who have no opinion on any subject except their own
immediate and individual interest, who follow the Peace Party to-day,
because the other Party, the Party for Compulsion, have not condescended
to explain to them why they should do otherwise. Now, should it happen
that the people of Johannesburg, either after my advice, or after their
own methods, take a resolute front and dare to defy the tyrant, the
Party for Compulsion would then have a text to preach upon; the
ever-varying third might be influenced to side with it, and the
Government might then find it the proper thing to declare war.
I believe, therefore, it may come to war. But, as war is a serious
thing, even with such a small state as the Transvaal, (and who knows
whether the Orange Free State may not join them?) I would not
precipitately engage in it. I would prefer to give Krüger a good excuse
to descend from that lofty and unalterable decision not to give way to
anybody or anything. I would send a Peace Commission of half a dozen of
the noblest, wisest, and most moderate men we have got, who could
discuss all matters between the Dutch and ourselves, who would know when
to yield on questions that do not affect the supremacy of England, or
touch on her vital interests,--men who could be firm with courtesy.
This method, of course, is only to set ourselves right with the world,
which is rather bitter against England just now, and give ourselves time
to prepare, in case of the failure of the Peace Commission.
A few millions spent on equipping a complete Army Corps, ready to set
out at an instant’s notice, and another ready to support it, might
morally effect a change in Krüger’s disposition.
He is, I believe, ready on his side for any contingency, or thinks he
is; otherwise, why those armed forts at Pretoria, and at Johannesburg,
those ninety thousand Mauser rifles, and those batteries of artillery?
Why, in fact, this attitude of irreconcileability on his part, were it
not that he has been preparing for war?
My dear, I could go on for hours on this subject. I could tell you how I
almost foresee war in this peaceful-looking country. The wise
politicians at home would no doubt say, ‘Ah, Stanley is all very well as
an explorer, but in politics, statesmanship, etc., he is altogether out
of his element.’ But I can _read men_, and the signs of what shall come
are written on Krüger’s face. My business through life has been to
_foresee_, and if possible _avert_ calamity ... but enough is enough!
Time flies, and the day of departure from this land will soon arrive,
and every day that passes brings me nearer to you and that dear,
blessed, little child of ours, whom the gods sent to cheer our hungry
hearts. My whole soul is in my pen as I write. God bless you and keep
you both!
November 26th, 1897. In my hurry to go to bed last night, I omitted to
say anything about my impressions of Ladysmith, the Aldershot of Africa.
It was but a short view I had of Ladysmith, but it was sufficient to
make me exclaim to my fellow-passengers that the officer who selected
that spot for a military camp ought to be shot! Anyone who looks at the
map of Natal may see that it would scarcely do to make a permanent
military station too far in that point of land that penetrates between
the Transvaal and the Orange Free State, unless it was resolved that the
defences should be elaborate, and the provisions ample enough for a year
at least.
Dreading what might some day be a trap for a British force, the military
authorities have chosen a basin-like hollow, south of, and near, a river
called the Tugela. When we came round a bend from Newcastle, the white
tents of the English soldiers were seen, away down in the hollow, some
hundreds of feet below us.
With Majuba ever on one’s mind, with Krüger and his Boers so defiant and
bold in their stubbornness, I cannot imagine what possesses the
commander to undertake the responsibility of pretending to defend a
camp, utterly indefensible according to my notions.
Of course, an officer, in time of peace, may camp anywhere in a loyal
colony like Natal, on the condition that it is only temporary; but the
danger of such a camp as this is, that stores of all kinds soon become
enormously valuable as they gather day after day, and their removal is
very serious work. Even if a camp be but temporary, I am of the opinion
that it should be the best site in the vicinity and the easiest
defensible, were it only to keep alive that alertness and discipline
which is necessary in war; but this Ladysmith lies at the mercy of a
band of raiders, and if a body of Englishmen can be found in time of
peace raiding into a country at peace with us, it is not beyond
possibility that a body of Boers may try some day to imitate us, when we
least expect it.
* * * * *