Tom Willoughby's first impression of Curt Reinecke had an element of
surprise. Conspicuous on the landing-stage at Bismarckburg was a thin
wiry man of middle height, clad in the loose white garments affected by
planters, with a large white linen hat, its brim turned down
helmet-wise. The coppery hue of his face was accentuated by a huge
white moustache, which projected at least two inches beyond the outlines
of his shaven cheeks. He might have passed for a South American
president.
"That's Reinecke," said Mr. Barkworth, as he stepped on to the gangway
in advance of Tom. "Hasn't altered a jot. His moustache was white
twenty years ago; and he was as bald as a bladder. Good-bye, my lad: we
may meet again: we may not: God bless you!"
Mr. Barkworth had already explained that, as the _Hedwig von Wissmann_
would remain two or three days at Bismarckburg to unload, he was going
to complete his journey to Kitata in Rhodesia by sailing boat. They
shook hands cordially and parted.
It was impossible for Reinecke to mistake the lad he had come to meet.
Among the passengers who landed there was none so young as Tom, no other
who bore the stamp of Englishman. Reinecke came up to him with a smile,
lifted his hat, revealing for an instant his smooth pink crown, and
said--
"Mr. Villoughby, vizout doubt. A tousand hearty velcomes."
"How d'you do, Mr. Reinecke?" responded Tom. "Glad to meet you."
"Ve shall go to ze hotel for to-day; I shall see to your baggage.
To-morrow ve go to ze plantation. Zat zhentleman you part viz--I zink I
know his look, but his name--no, I do not remember: it is--no, it vill
not come."
"Barkworth."
"Ach! So! Barkvorce. Yes, of course, of course; I remember: it is
long ago----"
He stopped abruptly, and gazed after the broad shambling figure with a
look that Tom could not fathom. Then he turned to Tom again, begged him
to excuse his absence for a moment, and went up the gangway on to the
steamer. Returning after a minute or two, he explained that he had
arranged for Tom's baggage to be sent to the hotel, and had invited
Captain Goltermann to visit the plantation while the vessel remained in
harbour.
"I can gif you good shootings," he said, smiling again. "You English
are all good sports, eh? And my friend ze captain also is expert viz ze
gun."
Tom felt that he had nothing to complain of in the warmth of his
reception, and glowed with anticipation of diversifying his business
inquiries with sport of a kind new to him.
He learnt that the plantation lay at a distance of about twenty miles
from the lake-side, on the Tanganyika Plateau, and could only be reached
by a rough path over the hills, impassable for wheeled traffic. But he
would not be expected to walk. The journey would be done by _machila_,
which turned out to be a light canvas litter slung on a pole and borne
by two strapping natives. Reinecke had brought three pairs of porters,
in addition to a dozen who would convey certain bales of stores which
had come by the steamer. It was thus a large party that left early next
morning, the three white men in their litters going ahead, the porters
following at some distance under the charge of an Arab overseer armed
with a long whip.
Within half an hour of leaving the port the path entered hilly country,
much overgrown with forest vegetation. The air was still, hot and
humid, and Tom, though this novel means of locomotion, over rough
ground, had its discomforts, reflected that he would have been still
more uncomfortable had he walked. Innumerable insects buzzed around,
seeking to pierce the protective curtains that enclosed him. Through
the meshes of the muslin he saw gigantic ferns, revelling in the moist
shade of huge trees, festooned with lianas and rattan. He heard monkeys
chattering overhead, the soft notes of doves and the shriller cries of
partridges and guinea-fowl; and but for the teeming insects he would
have liked to spring from his litter and go afoot, where every yard
brought some new beauty, some novel form of life, to view. After three
hours the caravan halted, for the purpose of refreshing the Europeans
with cool lager beer from bottles carried in ice-packs by one of the
natives. It was drawing towards evening when they arrived at a clearing
beyond which there was a dense and impenetrable thorn hedge about eight
feet high. The path led to a wooden gate set in the midst of the hedge.
This Reinecke opened with a key, and he stood back with a smile and a
bow as he invited Tom, now on his feet, to enter.
"Zis is our estate," he said. "Vunce more I bid you tousand velcomes,
and I vish your visit bring us good luck."
"Thanks very much," said Tom, noticing at the same time that Reinecke's
eyes were fixed on the peculiarly stolid face of Captain Goltermann.
"Yes, viz better luck you shall be rich man in a few years, Mr.
Villoughby," said the captain. "Zere is no man zat knows like my friend
Reinecke ze--ze----"
"Ze ups and downs of coffee," suggested Reinecke. "A good season--yes,
zere shall be zree or four tousand kilos ze acre; but a bad season--ah!
disease come--who can stop it? Vat physician haf ve for ze cure?
Zen--ah! it break ze heart."
Tom looked about him with interest. As far as he could see, extended
row on row of coffee plants in straight lines about six feet apart.
Between them, at the same interval, were dug shallow pits some eighteen
inches deep. He had arrived just at the time when the fruit was ripe,
and a number of negroes were busily picking it from the bushes. Here
and there among them stood tall Arab overseers, all armed with whips.
Presently the party came to a couple of machines resembling cider
presses, which Reinecke explained were pulpers for separating the beans
from the reddish pulp that covered them. Then they passed two large
brick vats, in one of which the beans were fermented, in the other
washed and dried. Beyond these were sheds where the coffee, now ready
for market, was stored and packed. And then, in a separate clearing,
laid out like a European garden, they came to Reinecke's bungalow, a
brightly painted structure of wood, with a long verandah and a thatched
roof. A table was laid on the verandah, and a few minutes after his
arrival Tom was seated with his host and his fellow-guest at a meal,
prepared and served by native servants, which reminded him, with a
difference, of the meals he had known the year before, when his father
had sent him to Germany.
Finding that Tom understood German, Reinecke conversed in that language,
dropping into English now and then to explain technical terms. He
related to his interested guests the story of the plantation: how the
land was first cleared by cutting down the timber and uprooting the
bush: how this was burnt and the ashes mixed with the soil: the months
of hoeing: the sowings in the seed beds: the planting out of the
seedlings in November, when the rains began: and the tedious three
years' waiting before the young plants started to bear. Those three
years he had utilised by planting a thorn fence about the whole clearing
of some hundreds of acres. Tom supposed that this fence had been
erected to keep out wild beasts, for depredations by human marauders
were not to be feared in a district where German authority was
established. Reinecke assented; but Tom was to discover before many
days were past that the fence had another, even a sinister purpose.
The next two days were spent very agreeably in shooting expeditions into
the wild country beyond the plantation. Captain Goltermann turned out
to be a crack shot, and the greater number of the antelopes and
buffaloes which the sportsmen brought down fell to his gun. Tom was all
anxiety to get a shot at a lion or even an elephant, which Reinecke told
him were to be found in parts of the Plateau; but the Germans were
indisposed to take the long journeys that were necessary to reach the
habitats of these more dangerous game: Goltermann's visit was to be only
a short one.
One trifling incident of these days was to have an important bearing on
Tom's fortunes. Captain Goltermann had shot an antelope, but, with less
than his usual skill or luck, had only wounded it. Determined not to
lose his prey, he followed, accompanied by the others, over a stretch of
hilly country, dotted with bush, tracking the animal by its blood-stains
into a deep nullah through which a stream flowed. The sportsmen caught
sight of it at last, drinking at the border of a lake, the source of the
stream. Goltermann had just raised his gun to give the _coup de grace_
when the antelope suddenly sank into the water and appeared no more.
"We have provided a meal for a crocodile," said the captain with a
shrug. "The slimy sneaking reptile!"
"It was bad luck for you, Goltermann," said Reinecke. "The beast was
hopelessly trapped; there's no exit from this end of the nullah. Our
long tramp for nothing!"
Naturally, it was not until the captain had left that Tom broached the
business that had brought him from England.
"Now that we have come into my father's property," he said on the third
morning at breakfast, "my brother and I thought it just as well that I
should take a trip out and see things on the spot. He explained that in
his letter."
"Naturally," said Reinecke. "It is what I should have done myself."
"Of course," Tom went on, "I've only had a year's business training--in
Germany, by the way: and I know nothing whatever about coffee: but I
know two and two make four, and I'm sure if you'll be good enough to go
into things with me, I'll soon get the hang of them. If the plantation
can't be made to pay, there's only one way out--sacrifice our interest.
On the other hand, if there's a chance of success, I thought perhaps I
might stay on here and become a planter myself: it's a life I think I
should take to."
"Excellent," said Reinecke. "I am very glad you have come. And if you
can suggest some means of making the place pay--well, need I say I shall
be delighted. What with poor crops and low prices, and the heavy costs
of carriage, it is difficult to wring from it even the small, and I
confess unsatisfactory margin which I have been able to show since the
plants came into bearing."
It crossed Tom's mind that this pessimistic attitude was hard to square
with Captain Goltermann's enthusiastic praise of Reinecke, and his
remarks on the valuable cargoes that he had carried; but he remembered
Mr. Barkworth's advice to "go carefully," to "keep an open mind," and at
present he had no material on which to form a judgment. Nor could he
yet decide how to estimate Reinecke. The German had been cordiality
itself. He had left nothing undone for his guest's comfort; his manner
had every appearance of frankness; yet Tom was conscious in himself of
an instinctive reserve, a something undefined that held him back from
complete confidence.
"You will see the books, of course," said Reinecke, rising to unlock his
desk. "They are kept in German, but after your year's training in
Germany that will be no difficulty to you. Here they are: the stock
book, the cost book, the ledger: on this file you will find the vouchers
for the quantities of beans we have shipped from Bismarckburg. My clerk
is very methodical: he is a nigger, but trained in Germany, and in
spirit a true German: you will find all in order. I will leave you to
examine them at your leisure, and anything you want explained--why, of
course I shall be delighted."
Tom spent the rest of the morning in digesting the figures that Reinecke
had placed before him. It was a task that went against the grain; he
hated anything that savoured of the part of inquisitor; but he reflected
that it was purely a matter of business, and being thorough in whatever
he undertook he bent his mind to the distasteful job, resolved to get it
over as quickly as possible.
As Reinecke had said, everything was in order. There were records of the
total quantity of beans produced; he compared the vouchers for the
consignments with the entries in the stock book, and found that they
tallied. The other books gave him the costs of production, which
included wages, provisions, upkeep of buildings and so on; duplicates of
the invoices dispatched with the goods to a firm in Hamburg; records of
bills of exchange received in payment, and the hundred and one details
incident to an export business. Balance sheets had, of course, been
sent to his father: here was the material on which those sheets were
based, and everything confirmed the position as he already knew it: that
the plantation did little more than pay the not inconsiderable salary
which Reinecke drew as manager. His and the Willoughbys' shares of the
profits were minute.
Tom could only conclude that Captain Goltermann, knowing nothing of the
details of management, had drawn erroneous conclusions from the facts
within his knowledge. His vessel conveyed a certain number of bags up
the lake at certain seasons: that was all. It was easy for a seaman to
make mistakes in such a matter. If so, then, what was wrong? Were the
costs too high in proportion to the out-turn? Was the acreage under
cultivation too small? Was there something faulty in the methods
employed? Tom felt that these questions carried him beyond his depth.
Would it not have been better to send an expert to make the necessary
investigations? That might still have to be done: meanwhile here he was;
he must learn what he could, spend a few months in getting a grip of
things, keep Bob at home informed, and then go back and consult with
him.
When Reinecke returned to lunch, Tom complimented him on the perfect
order in which his books were kept, and frankly told him the conclusion
to which he had come.
"That means that I must trespass on your hospitality for some months, at
any rate," he added. "I shall see the results from this season's crops,
your preparations for next, and fresh sowings, I suppose. Of course I
can't expect to learn in a few months what has taken you years."
"That is so," said the German, and Tom fancied that there was a shade
less cordiality in his manner, which was perhaps not to be wondered at
in view of the prospect of having a stranger quartered on him for an
indefinite period. "Still," Reinecke went on, "it is with knowledge as
with wealth. The heir inherits thousands which his father has
laboriously amassed; the pupil enjoys the fruits of his master's long
and concentrated study. I think you will be an apt pupil."
He said this with so pleasant a smile that Tom dismissed his feeling of
a moment before as unwarranted, and reflected that Reinecke was really
taking things with a very good grace.
Next day he accompanied Reinecke to the outlying quarter of the estate
where the workers were lodged in huts and sheds constructed by
themselves. They were shut off from the outer world by the ring fence,
which consisted of quick-growing thorn bushes so closely matted as to
form a practically impenetrable barrier many feet thick. There were
more than a hundred adult negroes, men and women, employed on the
plantation. A number of children playing in front of the huts stopped
and clustered together in silent groups when the two white men appeared.
"I suppose the workers get a holiday sometimes?" said Tom, whose
schooldays were only eighteen months behind him.
"Of course," said Reinecke. "There are slack times, in the early part
of the season between the hoeings, when there is little to be done."
"But I mean, they go away sometimes?"
"Why should they? Where should they go? There is only the forest, and
the port. They would be eaten in the forest; they would eat up the
port." Reinecke laughed at his joke.
"Then they are practically prisoners?"
"My dear Mr. Willoughby, this is Africa. In Europe you put fences round
your cattle: the negroes are just cattle. Break your fences, and your
animals stray and are lost. So with the niggers."
"But that is slavery."
"Words! words!" said Reinecke lightly. "They are no more slaves than the
apprentices who are bound to their masters for a term of years. They
are indentured labourers. They are paid; and there's not a man among
them but accumulates enough to make him rich when his time is up."
"They can go to their homes, then, when their time is up?"
Reinecke shrugged.
"As they please," he said. "They have a long way to go. See, Mr.
Willoughby, I give you a page from German colonial history. Twenty
years ago, in our early days, our brave pioneers of empire had enormous
difficulties to contend with. There was one savage tribe, the Wahehe
some two hundred miles north of us here, that resisted our civilising
mission with especial pertinacity and violence. On August 17, '91, they
gained a victory over our much-tried soldiers. They dispersed as we
approached, but when the column of Captain von Zelewski was passing
through a rugged and densely-grown country it was attacked along its
whole length by thousands of the treacherous dogs. Zelewski was among
the first to fall; taken at a disadvantage his column was almost
annihilated. Ten Germans, sir--ten Germans, I say, as well as over
three hundred askaris and porters, were slain. The gallant Lieutenant
von Tettenborn fought his way back with a few survivors to Kondoa, and
thence reached the coast."
"We've had many incidents of that sort in India and elsewhere," said
Tom. "I suppose there was a punitive expedition?"
"There was, sir; but not until three years had passed. For three years
those treacherous swine were allowed to flout the German might. Then,
in October '94, we captured and destroyed Iringa, their principal
village, and were again attacked in the woods on our way to the coast.
Some of the petty chiefs held out against us for years, but the German
destructive sword is very sure. Finally they were terribly subdued, and
some hundreds of them were transported into this Tanganyika country and
compelled to earn their living by peaceful toil. My people here are
Wahehe. I have one of the very chiefs who opposed us--one Mirambo, a
great hunter in his youth. I need not say that I find his woodcraft
very useful when I go hunting. By the way, he carried Captain
Goltermann's gun the other day. And now you see, Mr. Willoughby, how
well off these people are. They might have been treated as rebels; they
might have suffered as prisoners of war. Instead, they are indentured
labourers, engaged, for pay, in producing a useful commodity--with no
profit to their employers, mark you. My dear sir, it is philanthropy."
Tom did not venture to say what he thought. In these early days it was
useless to enter into a dispute with Reinecke. But to his British way
of thinking the condition of the labourers was simply slavery, however
the German might seek to disguise it, and he would make it his business
to find out for himself the natives' point of view. If they were
contented with their lot, it would be folly to disturb them. But if
not--and he remembered the whips he had seen in the overseers' hands--a
new system must be introduced, with or without Reinecke's consent.