Роберт Фиш - Rough Diamond

Andries Pirow cleared his throat. “My President—”

Kruger turned to him, his temper slowly cooling. “Yes, my old friend?”

“My President, may I speak freely?”

Kruger smiled. “When have you ever failed to, my friend?”

“Seldom, I admit,” Andries said, returning the smile. Then the smile disappeared. “But now I may offend you.”

Kruger’s smile also disappeared. “Then offend me. But not with evasions.”

Andries nodded. When he spoke his voice was cool, expressionless; his eyes were fixed on Kruger’s face as if to be able to judge the President’s reaction to his words.

“My President, the question of the franchise — the vote — for the Uitlanders under more reasonable conditions than those established in the Treaty is not so easily avoided, I am afraid. It is like the rain on the mountains when you are trying to haul a heavy wagon over them and God seems to be against you. You can pray or you can curse, you can demand or you can beseech, but in the long run you outspan your oxen and block your wheels and try to keep dry as best you can. You have no choice.”

“What are you trying to say? So far you have failed to offend me.”

“I am trying to say that it is easier to say we will deny the Uitlander the vote than to actually deny him the vote. When we first came to this land as Voortrekkers, were we given the vote by the Zulus as we crossed the Karroo? Were we given the vote by Moselekatse when we established the Transvaal Republic in what had been his Matabeleland? No; we won by force of arms. Nor were we the majority at all; the Matabele were, as the Zulus were in the Karroo.”

“And we were never given the vote by the British, when they forced their control over us, even though we were the majority, then,” Kruger retorted, his face getting red. “Again we won our rights by force of arms. Are you saying the Uitlanders might try to obtain what they consider their rights by force of arms? That they learned nothing at Majuba Hill? That bunch of effete, whoring, gambling scum?” He smiled grimly. “Well, let them try!”

“What I am really trying to say,” Andries replied patiently, “is that there is such a thing as compromise. The Uitlander is unhappy with the conditions that exist. I think you should talk to them.”

“I have talked to them. I spoke to their Premier, is he a big enough man? Cecil John Rhodes. He tried to get on my good side. ‘What you need,’ he said to me, ’is an outlet to the sea. A place like Delagoa Bay, in Portuguese East Africa.’ I said to him, ‘I agree we need such an outlet to the sea, and we’ve spoken to the Portuguese, but they won’t sell the land.’ And he said to me, ‘Then simply take it; you’re strong enough. You took land from the Matabele, take it from the Portuguese.’ That’s the kind of man he is. He couldn’t see the difference between taking land from black savages and taking land from white men. I told him such land would carry God’s curse on it. I’m sure he thought I was crazy.”

“Rhodes is just one man—”

“Oh, I’ve talked to their delegations, too. They send up these mealymouthed men who have never worked a day in their lives, never held a gun in their lives, never killed either a man nor an animal in their lives. And they talk of wanting to build railways, and of voting, of wanting to be good citizens of the Transvaal, and how the vote can give them this opportunity, and how much we Boers would gain if all the English were allowed to become good citizens. Good citizens! They want to become good citizens!” Kruger leaned over and spat into a spittoon. “That’s what I think of their wanting to become good citizens!”

“Good citizens or bad citizens,” Andries said quietly, “the fact is the bulk of our income, the largest part of our treasury, comes from taxes on their production of gold. And taxes on the dynamite they use. And taxes on almost everything that crosses the border into the Transvaal. Without the Uitlander we would have no treasury. That is the truth. Fighting with them is no answer. What would we win?”

Kruger nodded as if in full agreement.

“I agree that fighting is no answer. As you say, what could we win that we do not already have? We have control of our country, and that is a control we shall continue to hold as long as the Uitlander is not given a chance to take it away from us. With the franchise, for example. The law states — as a result of the Treaty, I might mention, a Treaty that would never have been signed had I been President at the time — that the Uitlander can vote after fourteen years as a resident. And even that isn’t long enough, in my view. He’ll be the same man in fourteen years as he is today-worthless scum aching to take the Transvaal from us!”

“Fourteen years is still a long time,” Andries said mildly.

“Not too long to wait to get what they want!” Kruger said flatly. “Andries, Andries! Think! Why do they want the vote and want it today? They want to control the Volksraad as they control the Cape Assembly, so they can make the laws to suit themselves. And what laws would they make? First they would see to it they could mine their gold without paying a penny of those taxes you spoke of before; they would make laws that would give them control of all imports, tax-free. They would milk the Transvaal of all its riches and not pay a pound for the privilege, all in the name of good and fair democracy, the rule of the majority.” He raised a finger and laid it against his nose. “And who would pay the necessary taxes? The farmers; the Boers. And you expect me to agree to this?” He shook his head. “No. Giving them the vote at all was a mistake, even after fourteen years’ residency. But to reduce it? To change it? That would be suicide for the Boer.”

“There are reasonable men among the Uitlanders,” Andries said, still keeping his tone moderate. “Forget the delegations that have come up here; forget Cecil Rhodes. Speak to the people themselves. The Boer and the Uitlander need each other; that is the first thing to recognize. Go to Johannesburg; I know you have been invited by the Miner’s Committee. Accept their invitation, my President. Stand up before the people and say what you have said here; what you have said here makes sense. This is a Boer state and must remain a Boer state, but there is a place here for the Uitlander . The answer has to lie in compromise of some sort, or I promise you there will be trouble. There will be fighting. And nobody will win.”

Kruger sighed. “Andries, you fought beside me when we were young. I know you have spent much time with the English, but I also know you are a Boer and I trust you. If it makes you happy, I will go to Johannesburg and speak with the people there. But I think I will be wasting my time.” He finished his brandy-laced tea and stood up. “And now, my friends, I am tired. I am going to my bed. I thank you all for coming at such short notice, but I think our discussion has been useful.”

“But about this new chemical—” Scholtz said desperately.

“The Boers shall control its import, I can assure you of that,” Kruger said, eyeing the man coldly.

“But—”

“We will discuss the means of control at the next full meeting of the Volksraad,” Kruger said, dismissing the matter, and walked from the room, dragging his blankets behind him.

Four men sat about a campfire inside a fort called Fort Salisbury in the newly formed state of Rhodesia, named for the Premier of the Cape Colony and firmly under the control of the British South Africa Company, a chartered company under the British flag that Cecil Rhodes had formed for the purpose of both expanding British influence in central Africa, and exploiting the territory’s riches. The land had been two areas under the control of a chieftain named Lobengula, areas named Mashonaland, and the balance of what had been Matabeleland, and although a treaty of friendship had been signed between Lobengula and the representative of the British Government, a small army under the leadership of Dr. Leander Starr Jameson nevertheless had invaded the territory and taken it over, with Lobengula fleeing his kraal to die shortly thereafter in the bush.