SIR GARNET WOLSELEY.
WHAT HE CAME FOR, WHAT HE DID, AND WHAT HE DID NOT DO.
England, however, was beginning to feel that her South African
possessions were in an unsettled condition, although in point of fact
they were quiet enough until she meddled with them in the blundering
well-meaning fashion in which she has handled them ever since. It was
patent, indeed, that some interference was required, when innocent
tribes were liable to such cruel injustice as that inflicted upon
the Ama-Hlubi and Amangwe in 1873, and, if her interference was
honestly intended on their behalf, she has at least the credit of the
“well-meaning” attributed to her above. Whatever her intentions may
have been, however, the result has been a progress from bad to worse,
culminating at last in the late unhappy Zulu War.
It is believed by many that England possesses but one man upon whom
she can place any reliance in times of difficulty and danger, and
accordingly Natal shortly received notice that Sir Garnet Wolseley
was coming to “settle her affairs;” and the Natalians, with feelings
varying from humble and delighted respect to bitter and suspicious
contempt, prepared themselves to be set straight—or not—according to
their different sentiments.
The great man and his “brilliant staff,” as it was soon popularly
called by the colonists—not without a touch of humour—arrived in
Natal upon the last day of March, 1875, and on the 1st of April he
took the oaths as Administrator of the Government at Pietermaritzburg.
He immediately commenced a series of entertainments, calculated by
their unusual number and brilliancy to dazzle the eyes of young
Natalian damsels. These latter, accustomed as they were to very
occasional and comparatively quiet festivities, and balls at which
a few of the subalterns of the small garrison at Fort Napier were
their most valued partners, found themselves in a new world of a most
fascinating description, all ablaze with gold and scarlet, V.C.’s,
C.B.’s, titles, and clever authors. And, what was more, all these
striking personages paid them the most gracious attentions—attentions
which varied according to the importance of the young ladies’
male relatives to the political scheme afoot. Meanwhile dinner
after dinner was given to the said relatives; Sir Garnet Wolseley
entertained the whole world, great and small, and the different
members of his staff had each his separate duty to perform—his list
of people to be “fascinated” in one way or another. For a short
time, perhaps, the popularity desired was achieved in consequence of
their united and persevering efforts, although from the very first
there were voices to be heard casting suspicion upon those who were
“drowning the conscience of the colony in sherry and champagne;” and
there were others, more far-sighted still, who grimly pointed out to
the gratified and flattered recipients of this “princely hospitality”
the very reasonable consideration: “You will have to pay for the
sherry and champagne yourselves in the end.”
Undoubtedly the conviction that the colony would pay dear for its
unwonted gaiety—that it was being “humbugged” and befooled—soon stole
upon the people. While the daughters enjoyed their balls, their
fathers had to buy their ball-dresses; and while the legislative
councillors and all their families were perpetually and graciously
entertained at Government House, the question began to arise: “What
is the object of it all?”
All unusual treatment calls forth special scrutiny, and it is to
be doubted whether Sir Garnet’s lavish hospitality and (almost)
universally dropped honey, with all the painful labours of his
brilliant staff combined, did more than awaken the suspicions which
a course of proceedings involving less effort would have failed to
evoke. Even the most ignorant of Dutch councillors would be wise
enough to know that when a magnate of the land treated him and his
family as bosom friends and equals of his own, the said magnate
must want to “get something out of him”—even the most untaught and
ingenuous of colonial maidens would soon rate at their true value the
pretty speeches of the “men of note,” who would have had them believe
that, after frequenting all the gayest and most fashionable scenes of
the great world, they had come to Natal and found their true ideal
upon its distant shores.
A vast amount of trouble and of energy was thrown away by all
concerned, while the few whose eyes were open from the first stood
by and watched to see what would come of it. The question remains
unanswered to this day. That the annexation of the Transvaal by Sir
Garnet Wolseley did _not_ come of it, is to that discreet general’s
great credit. And had his decision—that the work which he was
specially sent out to do[42] was one for which the country was not
ripe, and would not be for many years—been accepted and acted upon by
England, the expense of his six months’ progress through Natal would
have been well worth incurring indeed, for in that case there would
have been no Zulu War. But this, unfortunately for all parties, was
not the case.
The popular answer in Natal to the question, “What did Sir Garnet
Wolseley do for you?” is, “He got us up an hour earlier in the
morning;” an excellent thing truly, but a costly hour, the history
of which is as follows: For many years the city of Pietermaritzburg,
known as “Sleepy Hollow” to its rivals of another and, in its own
opinion, a busier town, had set all its clocks and watches, and
regulated all its business hours by the sound of a gun, fired daily
from Fort Napier at nine o’clock A.M., the signal for which came
from the town itself. The gun was frequently credited with being
too fast or slow by a few seconds or even minutes, and on one
occasion was known to have been wrong by half-an-hour; a mistake
which was remedied in the most original fashion, by setting the gun
back a minute and a half daily till it should have returned to the
proper time; to the utter confusion of all the chronometers in the
neighbourhood. But, right or wrong, the nine-o’clock gun was the
regulator of city time, including that of all country places within
reach of its report. The natives understood it, and “gun-fire” was
their universal hour of call; the shops were opened at its sound, and
but little business done before it. But during Sir Garnet Wolseley’s
reign in Natal it occurred, not without reason, to the member of
his staff whom he placed in temporary authority over the postal and
other arrangements of the colony, that nine o’clock was too late for
a struggling community to begin its day, and he therefore altered
the original hour of gun-fire to that of eight A.M. How far the
alteration really changed the habits of the people it is hard to
say, or how many of them may now let the eight-o’clock gun wake them
instead of sending them to work, but the change remains an actual
public proof of the fact that in 1875 Sir Garnet Wolseley visited
Natal.
A more important measure was the bill which he carried through the
Legislative Assembly for the introduction of eight nominee members to
be chosen by the Government, thereby throwing the balance of power
into the hands of the executive, unless, indeed, nominee members
should be chosen independent enough to take their own course. Whether
this measure was looked upon as very important by those who proposed
it, or whether the energy displayed was for the purpose of convincing
the public mind that such really was Sir Garnet’s great object in
Natal, it is not so easy to decide. But looking back through the
events of the last few years one is strongly tempted to suspect that
the whole visit to Natal, and all the display made there, was nothing
but a pretence, a blind to hide our designs upon the Transvaal, for
which Sir Garnet wisely considered that the country was not ripe.
But if in this instance we are bound to admire Sir Garnet Wolseley’s
good sense, we must, on the other hand, greatly deprecate his
behaviour towards the two unfortunate tribes whose sorrows have been
recorded, and towards those who took an interest in their welfare and
just treatment—more especially towards the Bishop of Natal.[43]
From the very first Sir Garnet’s tone upon native matters, and
towards the Bishop, were entirely opposed to that used by Lord
Carnarvon. Every attempt made by the Bishop to place matters upon
a friendly footing, which would enable the new Governor to take
advantage of his thorough acquaintance with the natives, was
checked; nor through the whole of his governorship did he ever invite
the Bishop’s confidence or meet him in the spirit in which he was
himself prepared to act; a course of proceeding most unfortunately
imitated by some of his successors, especially Sir Bartle Frere, who
only “invited criticism of his policy”—and received it—when too late
to be of any avail except to expose its fallacies.
It is impossible to rise from a perusal of the despatches written by
Sir Garnet after his arrival in Natal, in answer or with reference
to matters in which the Bishop was concerned, without coming to the
conclusion that from the very beginning his mind was prejudiced
against the Bishop’s course, and that he had no sympathy with him or
the people in whom he was interested. Far from attempting to carry
out Lord Carnarvon’s instructions in the spirit in which they were
undoubtedly given, he set aside some, and gave an interpretation of
his own to others, which considerably altered their effect; while his
two despatches, dated May 12th and 17th, show plainly enough the bias
of his mind.
The first is on the subject of the return of Langalibalele, which the
Bishop had recommended, offering to receive him upon his own land
at Bishopstowe, and to make himself responsible, within reasonable
limits, for the chief’s good behaviour. Sir Garnet “would deprecate
in the strongest terms” such return. “Langalibalele,” he says, “as
I am informed by all classes here, official and non-official (a
very small knot of men of extreme views excepted), is regarded by
the native population at large as a chief who, having defied the
authorities, and in doing so occasioned the murder of some white
men, is now suffering for that conduct.” While thus avoiding the
direct responsibility of sitting “in judgment upon past events,” by
_quoting_ from “all classes here,” he practically confirms their
opinion by speaking of those who differ from them as “a very small
knot of men of extreme views;” and he further commits himself to the
very unsoldierlike expression of “murder” as applied to the death of
the five men at the Bushman’s River Pass, by speaking in the same
paragraph of the punishment of the chief as “a serious warning to
all other Kafir chiefs ... to avoid imitating his example.” Without
mentioning the Bishop by name, he makes repeated allusions to him in
a tone calculated to give an utterly false impression of his action
and character. “To secure these objects” (the future safety of the
colony and the true interests of white and black) “it is essential
that a good feeling should exist between the two races; and I am
bound to say that in my opinion those who, by the line of conduct
they adopt, keep alive the recollection of past events,”[44] etc.
etc. “I have no wish to attribute to those who adopt this policy any
interested motives. I am sure that they are actuated by feelings
of high philanthropy,” (? simple justice and honesty), “and nothing
is farther from my mind than a wish to cast any slur upon them. Yet
I must say that from the manner in which they refuse to believe all
evidence that does not coincide with their own peculiar views, and
from the fact of their regarding the condition of affairs in Natal
from one standpoint alone, I am forced to consider them impractical
(_sic_), and not to be relied on as advisers by those who are
responsible for the good government of all classes.” In the following
paragraphs he speaks of “sensational narratives oftentimes based
upon unsifted evidence,” “highly-coloured accounts,” and “one-sided,
highly-coloured, and, in some instances, incorrect statements that
have been made public in a sensational manner,” all which could
refer to the Bishop alone. If by regarding the condition of affairs
in Natal from one standpoint alone, Sir Garnet Wolseley means the
standpoint of British honour and justice, and looks upon those who
hold it as “impractical,” there is little more to say. But Sir
Garnet can never have given his attention to the Bishop’s printed
pamphlets, and could therefore have no right to an opinion as to his
reception or treatment of evidence, or he would not venture to use
the expressions just quoted of one who had never made an assertion
without the most careful and patient sifting of the grounds for it,
whose only object was to establish the truth, _whatever that might
be_, and who was only too glad whenever his investigations threw
discredit upon a tale of wrong or oppression. That principles of
strict honour and justice should in these our days be characterised
as “peculiar views,” is neither to the credit of the English nation
nor of its “only man.”
In the second despatch mentioned Sir Garnet makes the following
singular remark: “In the meantime I take the liberty of informing
your lordship that the words ‘the Amahlubi may, if they choose,
when that is prepared which is to be prepared, go to him,’ are
interpreted, by those who have taken an active part in favour of
the tribe, as binding the Government to convey all members of the
Amahlubi tribe who may wish to join Langalibalele, to whatever place
may be finally selected for his location. I do not conceive that
any such meaning is intended, and should not recommend that such
an interpretation should be recognised. I think, however, it may
fairly be matter for consideration whether Langalibalele’s wives and
children, who have lost all their property,[45] might not be assisted
with passages by sea to join Langalibalele.”[46]
It is difficult to imagine what other interpretation can be placed
on the words of the proclamation, or how, after it had once been
delivered, any narrower measures could be fairly considered, or
require further “instructions.”
In subsequent letters Sir Garnet scouts altogether representations
made by the Bishop of the destitute condition of members of the
Hlubi tribe, replying to Lord Carnarvon on the subject by enclosing
letters from various magistrates in different parts of the country
denying that destitution existed; saying that the people were “in
sufficiently good circumstances;” and most of them suggesting that,
should anything like starvation ensue, the people have only to hire
themselves out as labourers to the white people. The Bishop would
certainly never have made representations unsupported by facts; but
in any case it is a question whether we had not some further duties
towards a large number of innocent people whom we had stripped of all
their possessions, and whose homes and crops we had destroyed, than
that of allowing them to labour for us at a low rate of wages; or
whether the mere fact of its being thus possible for all to keep body
and soul together relieved us of the responsibility of having robbed
and stripped them.
These facts in themselves prove how different from Lord Carnarvon’s
feelings and intentions were those of his subordinate, and how real
Sir Garnet’s antagonism. It is not therefore surprising that the
commands of the former were not, and have never been, carried out.