"Little white mice of chance,
Coats of wool and corduroy pants,
Gold and wine, women and sin,
I'll give to you, if you let me in
To the glittering house of chance."
American Dice Incantation.
At Johannesburg we were the guests of Mr. Abe Bailey at Clewer Lodge. Our
host, however, was unfortunately absent, "detained" in the precincts of the
gaol at Pretoria, although allowed out on bail. In the same house he had
entertained in 1891 my brother Randolph[9]
and his friend Captain G. Williams, Royal Horse Guards, on their way to
Mashonaland. One of my first visitors was another fellow-traveller of
theirs, Mr. H.C. Perkins, the celebrated American mining expert. This
gentleman was a great friend of Randolph's, and he spoke most touchingly of
his great attachment to the latter, and of his grief at his death. For five
years Mr. and Mrs. Perkins had lived in Johannesburg, where they both
enjoyed universal respect, and their approaching departure, to settle once
more in America, was deplored by all. Considered to be the highest mining
expert of the day, Mr. Perkins had seen the rise of the Rand since its
infancy, and he had been shrewd enough to keep out of the late agitation and
its disturbances. Under his guidance we saw the sights of the towns: the
far-famed Rand Club; the Market Square, crammed, almost for the first time
since the so-called "revolution," with trek-waggons and their Boer drivers;
the much-talked-of "Gold-fields" offices, barred and barricaded, which had
been the headquarters of the Reform Committee; the Standard Bank, where the
smuggled arms had been kept; and finally the Exchange and the street
enclosed by iron chains, where the stock markets were principally carried
on. We were also shown the interior of the Stock Exchange itself, though we
were warned that it was scarcely worth a visit at that time of depression.
We heard the "call of the shares," which operation only took twenty minutes,
against nearly two hours during the time of the recent boom. Instead of the
listless, bored-looking individuals below us, who only assumed a little
excitement when the revolving, clock-like machine denoted any popular share,
we were told that a few months ago every available space had been crowded by
excited buyers and sellers—some without hats, others in their shirt-sleeves,
almost knocking one another over in their desire to do business. Those must
indeed have been palmy days, when the money so lightly made was
correspondingly lightly spent; when champagne replaced the usual
whisky-split at the Rand Club, and on all sides was to be heard the old and
well-known formula, "Here's luck," as the successful speculator toasted an
old friend or a newcomer.
However, to return to Johannesburg as we found it, after the 1895 boom.
Even then it seemed to me that for the first time in South Africa I saw
life. Cape Town, with its pathetic dullness and palpable efforts to keep up
a show of business; Kimberley, with its deadly respectability—both paled in
interest beside their younger sister, so light-hearted, reckless, and
enterprising. Before long, in spite of gloomy reflections on the evils of
gold-seeking, I fell under the fascination of what was then a wonderful
town, especially wonderful from its youth. The ever-moving crowds which
thronged the streets, every man of which appeared to be full of important
business and in a desperate hurry, reminded one of the City in London. Smart
carriages with well-dressed ladies drove rapidly past, the shops were
cunningly arranged with tempting wares, and all this bustle and traffic was
restored in little over a week. A fortnight previously a revolution was
impending and a siege was looming ahead. Business had been at a complete
standstill, the shops and houses barred and barricaded, and many of the
inhabitants were taking a hurried departure; while bitterness, discord, and
racial feeling were rampant. Now, after a few days, that cosmopolitan and
rapidly changing population appeared to have buried their differences, and
the uninitiated would never have guessed the town had passed, and was,
indeed, still passing, through troublous times. Mr. Perkins, however, was
pessimistic, and told us appearances were misleading. He rightly foresaw
many lean years for those interested in the immediate future of the Rand,
though even he, perhaps, hardly realized how lean those would become. Since
those days much water has flown under the bridge, and the trade of the town,
not to speak of the mining industry, has gone from bad to worse. Recently
Federation, the dream of many a statesman connected with South Africa, has
opened a new vista of political peace and prosperity to its chastened
citizens. Many of these, in affluent circumstances in 1896, have since gone
under financially; but some of the original inhabitants still remain to show
in the future that they have learned wisdom from their past troubles,
brought on principally by their mad haste to get rich too quickly.
During our stay at Johannesburg we made an expedition to Pretoria in
order to see our host and other friends, who were still on bail there,
awaiting their trial, and also to visit the seat of the Boer Government. By
these remarkable State railways the short journey of thirty-two miles
occupied three hours. We passed one very large Boer laager, or military
camp, on the line, which looked imposing enough in the bright sunlight, with
its shining array of white-tarpaulin-covered waggons; companies of mounted
burghers, armed to the teeth, and sitting their ragged but well-bred ponies
as if glued to the saddle, were to be seen galloping to and fro. Although
the teeth of the enemy had been drawn for the present, the Boers were
evidently determined to keep up a martial display. As Pretoria was
approached the country became very pretty: low hills and many trees,
including lovely weeping-willows, appeared on the landscape, and away
towards the horizon was situated many a snug little farm; running streams
caught the rays of the sun, and really rich herbage supplied the pasture for
herds of fat cattle. The town itself did not prove specially interesting. An
imposing space called Church Square was pointed out to us with great pride
by the Dutch gentleman who kindly did cicerone. There we saw the little
primitive "dopper" church where the President always worshipped,
overshadowed and dwarfed by the magnificent Houses of Parliament, built
since the Transvaal acquired riches, and by the no less grand Government
Offices. As we were standing before the latter, after the fashion of
tourists, our guide suddenly became very excited, and told us we were really
in good luck, for the President was just about to leave his office on his
return home for his midday meal. In a few minutes the old gentleman emerged,
guarded by four armed burghers, and passed rapidly into his carriage. We
took a good look at this remarkable personage. Stout in figure, with a
venerable white beard, in a somewhat worn frock-coat and a rusty old black
silk hat, President Kruger did not look the stern dictator of his little
kingdom which in truth he was. Our Dutch friend told us Oom Paul was in the
habit of commencing work at 5 a.m., and that he transacted business, either
at his house or in the Government Offices, with short intermissions, until 5
p.m. Simply worshipped by his burghers, he was on a small scale, and in his
ignorant fashion, a man of iron like Bismarck, notably in his strong will
and in the way in which he imposed the same on his countrymen. The extent of
his personal influence could be gauged when one considered that his mere
orders had restrained his undisciplined soldier-burghers, who, irritated by
being called away from their peaceful existences, maddened by the loss of
some of their number who fell in the fighting, and elated by their easy
victory, were thirsting to shoot down the leaders of the Raid, as they
stood, in the market-square at Krugersdorp. The state of the Boer Government
at that time added to the President's difficulties. He was hampered by the
narrowest—minded Volksraad (Parliament) imaginable, who resented tooth and
nail even the most necessary concessions to the Uitlanders; he was
surrounded by corrupt officials, most of whom were said to be implicated in
the late rebellion; he was the head of a community which was known to be
split up into several sections, owing to acute religious disputes; and yet
he contrived, at seventy-one years of age, to outwit the 60,000 Uitlanders
at Johannesburg, and to present his rotten republic as a model of all that
was excellent and high-minded to the world at large. At the same time he
compelled his burghers to forget their own differences, as they hurled
defiance at the common foe. It seems to be a truism that it requires a Boer
to rule a Boer; and in some ways the mantle of President Kruger would appear
to have descended in our days upon General Louis Botha. According to all
accounts, his will is now law to the ignorant back Veldt Boers, although his
guiding principles savour more of the big stick than of the spoon-feeding
system. Undoubtedly loyal to England, he bids fair in the future to help
found a nation, based upon the union of British and Boer, inheriting their
traditions, cultivating their ideals, and pursuing their common ends.
But this Utopia seemed far away in 1896, and it was, alas! destined that
many lives should be laid down, and much treasure expended, before its
advent. For the moment lamentations were rife in Johannesburg, and at many a
dinner-party unprofitable discussions raged as to what would have happened
had Dr. Jameson entered the city. On this point no one could agree. Some
people said the town could have been starved out in a few days, and the
water-supply cut off immediately; others asserted that the Boers were in
reality overawed by Dr. Jameson's name and prestige, and would have been
glad to make terms. The practical spirits opined that the only thing which
would have saved the inhabitants in any case was the tame ending which
actually came about—namely, the High Commissioner's intervention coupled
with President Kruger's moderation and wisdom in allowing England to punish
her own irregular soldiers. The more one heard of the whole affair, the more
it seemed to resemble a scene out of a comic opera. The only people at
Johannesburg who had derived any advantage from the confusion were several
hitherto unknown military commanders, who had proudly acquired the title of
Colonel, and had promptly named a body of horse after themselves. During the
days before the final fiasco these leaders used to make short detours round
the town in full regimentals, and finally fill up the time by being
photographed in groups. Mercifully, as it turned out, they were not ready
for active service when Dr. Jameson was reported at Krugersdorp.
We made an excursion to the so-called battle-field before leaving for the
South. We started in a covered waggonette with no springs to speak of, drawn
by six mules, and a pair of horses as leaders. Two Kaffirs acted as
charioteers, and kept up an incessant jabber in Dutch. The one who held the
reins looked good-natured enough, but the other, whose duty it was to wield
the enormously long whip, had a most diabolical cast of countenance, in
which cruelty and doggedness were both clearly depicted. We found his face a
true indication of his character before the end of the day. Bumping gaily
along, we soon left the well-built houses behind, and after passing the
Malay quarter of the town, remarkable by reason of the quaint houses these
blacks make out of paraffin tins, flattened out and nailed together with
wonderful neatness, we emerged on the open veldt. Of course the road was of
the roughest description, and sometimes we had to hold on with all our might
to avoid the concussion of our heads with the wooden roof. In spite of this,
as soon as the Kaffirs saw an open space before them, the huge whip was
cracked, and away went our team at full gallop, seemingly quite out of
control, the driver leaning back in his seat with a contented grin, while
his colleague manipulated the unwieldy whip. The tract ran parallel to the
Rand for some distance, and we got a splendid view of Johannesburg and the
row of chimney-shafts that so clearly define the reef.
On passing Langlaate village, we were stopped by a party of Boers, who
had off-saddled by the side of the road. As they were fully armed and their
appearance was not prepossessing, we expected to be ordered to alight while
our conveyance was being searched. However, our fears were unfounded, and
they were most polite. The driver muttered something in Dutch, whereupon the
leader came to the door, and said in broken English: "Peeck neeck—I see all
right." I am sorry to say one of the gentlemen of our party muttered "Brute"
in an audible whisper; but, then, he had undergone a short, but a very
unpleasant term of imprisonment, with no sort of excuse, at the instance of
a Boer Veldtcornet, so no wonder he had vowed eternal vengeance.
Luckily, this officer did not hear, or else did not understand, the
ejaculation, so after a civil interchange of good-days we drove on.
After about three hours we reached a shallow ford over a wide stream, and
our driver informed us that this was our destination. Leaving the carriage,
we walked up to some rocks overlooking the stream, which seemed an inviting
place for luncheon; but we were quickly driven away, as thereon were lying
seven or eight carcasses of dead horses and mules. Curiously enough, the
vultures, or "aas-vogels," had left the skins on these poor beasts, for I
remember noticing how their coats glistened in the sunshine. This sight was
not very conducive to a good appetite, and a little farther on we saw
another pathetic spectacle: a very deep trench, made in the past by some
gold-prospector, had been filled in with rocky boulders, and was covered
with withered ferns. Here lay those who had fallen of the Chartered
Company's Forces. No doubt by now the space is enclosed as a tiny part of
God's acre, but at that time the rough stones in the deep grave, and the
faded flowers, seemed to enhance the dreariness of the scene.[10]
As to the locality of the final encounter and surrender of the Raiders,
there was not much to interest any but military men. Standing on the top of
the eminence before alluded to, one could see the Boer position and the sore
strait of their foes. Whether the column had come purposely towards this
drift, as being the only possible ford for many miles, or whether they had
been guided thereto by a treacherous guide, no one knew. One thing was
certain: destruction or surrender must have stared them in the face. The
kopjes on the farther side of the stream were bristling with Boers, and away
on the veldt beyond was drawn up the Staats artillery. And then one realized
a most awful blunder of the Reform Committee, from their point of view. The
Boer forces, arriving hereabouts in hot haste, from a rapid mobilization,
had been almost entirely without ammunition. We were told on good authority
that each burgher had but six rounds, and that the field-guns were without
any shells at all. During the night the necessary supply was brought by rail
from Pretoria, actually right through Johannesburg. Either by accident or
mature reflection on the part of the conspirators in that city, this train
was allowed to pass to its destination unmolested. It proved to be one of
those small happenings that completely alter the course of events. If the
burghers had not stopped the Raiders there, nothing could have prevented
them from entering Johannesburg, for after another three miles the
long-sought-for chimneys—the overhanging cloud of smoke—would have come into
view. The very stars in their courses seemed to have fought for the Boers,
and justified President Kruger's belief that his people were specially under
the protection of Providence.[11]
Neither will anyone ever determine the number of Boers killed at Krugersdorp.
One Veldtcornet inserted in all the papers that he defied anyone to
prove that more than four burghers were shot, and of these two were killed
accidentally by their own rifles. Residents on the spot, however, averred
that many more fell; but I think the point was not disputed in view of
President Kruger's famous claim for "moral and intellectual damages," which
was then already beginning to be mooted.
The lengthening shadows at last reminded us that we had to return to town
for a dinner-party given in our honour. It usually takes some time to catch
a team of six mules and two horses turned out to graze on the veldt; it is
endless, however, when they are as frightened of their drivers as ours
appeared to be. At length they were collected and we made a start, and then
our adventures began. First the leader, a white horse, jibbed. Off jumped
the Kaffir coachman, and commenced hammering the poor brute unmercifully
over head, ears, and body, with what they called in Africa the shambok.[12]
In consequence the team suddenly started off, but the long whip, left on the
carriage roof, slipped down, and was broken in two by the wheel passing over
it. Anyone who has driven behind mules knows how absolutely powerless the
Jehu is without a long whip; so here we were face to face with a real
misfortune: increasing darkness, jibbing leaders, no whip, and fifteen sandy
miles to traverse before dinner-time. With every sort of ejaculation and
yell, and a perfect rain of blows with the shambok from the Kaffir
still on foot, we lurched forward at a gallop, escaping by a hair's-breadth
another gold-prospector's trench. But the same leader jibbed again after
another mile. I must admit he was a most irritating brute, whose obstinacy
had been increased by the cruelty of the driver. It was now decided to put
him in the "wheel," where he would be obliged to do his work. We crawled on
again till our white friend literally threw himself down. I have related
this incident to show how cruel Kaffirs can be, for now the rage of the
evil-looking driver burst forth. He not only hammered the prostrate horse to
any extent, but then made the rest of the team pull on, so as to drag him
along on his side. Of course this could not be allowed, and Major —— jumped
out and commanded him to desist, take out the useless horse, and tie him
behind. At first the Kaffir was very mutinous, and it was only when a stick
was laid threateningly across his back that he sulkily complied, looking the
while as if he would like to murder the man he was forced to obey. One hears
so much nowadays of the black population having equal rights with the white
inhabitants, that it is well to remember how ferociously their lack of
civilization occasionally comes out. Doubtless there are cruel men both
white and black, but for downright brutality the nigger is hard to beat, and
it is also quite certain that whom the latter does not fear he will not
love. I have personally experienced great devotion and most attentive
service on the part of natives, and they are deserving of the kindest and
most considerate treatment; but it has often made me indignant to hear
people, who have had little or no experience of living in the midst of a
native population, prate of the rights of our "black brothers," and argue as
if the latter thought, judged, amused themselves, or, in short, behaved, as
the white men do, who have the advantage of hundreds of years of culture.
The day following our drive to Krugersdorp we left for Cape Town and
England. We made the voyage on the old Roslin Castle. Always a slow
boat, she had on this occasion, in sporting parlance, a "wing down," having
broken a piston-rod on her way out from England, when we had vainly awaited
her at Cape Town, and I think it was nearly three weeks before we landed at
Plymouth. Again Randolph's African journey was brought back to my
recollection. The captain of the Roslin Castle, Travers by name, had
commanded the Scot, which brought his party home from Mashonaland,
and he had very agreeable recollections of many an interesting conversation
and of quiet rubbers of whist.
Numerous and exciting events had been crowded into the past six weeks,
and in spite of revolutions and strife we had found our South African visit
a very pleasant one. A curious thing about that continent is: you may
dislike it or fall under its charm, but in any case it nearly always calls
you back. It certainly did in my case; and while recalling the people we had
met and the information we had acquired it was impossible not to think a
little of the Boers themselves, their characteristics and their failings. At
Johannesburg I had been specially struck by men, who knew them from long
experience, telling me how fully they appreciated the good points of the
burghers—for instance, their bravery, their love of their country, and their
simple, unquestioning, if unattractive faith, which savoured of that of the
old Puritans. Against these attributes their pig-headedness,
narrow-mindedness, laziness, and slovenliness had to be admitted. All these
defects militated against their living in harmony with a large, increasing,
and up-to-date community like the Johannesburg Uitlanders. Still, one could
not forget that the Transvaal was their country, ceded to them by the
English nation. They left Cape Colony years ago, to escape our laws, which
they considered unjust. It is certain we should never have followed them
into the Transvaal but for the sudden discovery of the gold industry; it is
equally true they had not the power or the wish to develop this for
themselves, and yet without it they were a bankrupt nation. There is no
doubt that the men who made the most mischief, and who for years embarrassed
the President, were the "Hollanders," or officials sent out from the
mother-country of the Dutch. They looked on the Transvaal only as a means
for getting rich. Hence the fearful state of bribery and corruption among
them, from the highest official downwards. But this very bribery and
corruption were sometimes exceedingly convenient, and I remember well, when
I revisited Johannesburg in 1902, at the conclusion of the war, hearing
people inveigh against the hard bargains driven by the English Government;
they even went so far as to sigh again for the good old days of Kruger's
rule. Now all is changed once more, after another turn of the kaleidoscope
of time, and yet it is well to remember that such things have indeed been.
