Part 2

Mr. Louis Cohen, one of Mr. Barney Barnato’s earliest partners on the Diamond Fields, says that there was one man on the Fields whose business they both envied. He seemed to have a regular and large connection, and made constant rounds, riding one old yellow, rather lame, pony. The partners tried to follow him to see which way he went, but without avail. One day Barnato said to Cohen: “That chap ---- has a rare good connection; we must get hold of a bit of it somehow.” “All right,” said Mr. Cohen, “we want it badly enough.” “I know what we have to do to get ----’s customers. I have seen him come home three days running.” Mr. Cohen thought Mr. Barnato was fooling, and replied rather sharply:--“If you had seen him go out and followed him up it would have been more to the purpose, I should think.” But Barnato soon convinced him that he was quite serious. “Look here,” said he, “I’ve seen him come back from his rounds three days running, and he always stops first at Hall’s canteen. Mind this, however, he does not guide the pony to the place, but just sits still all the while with loose rein, and the pony stops of his own accord. Now, it is my firm conviction that all day long he rides just the same way, and that the pony knows all the stopping places. I’ve known this for some days, but it didn’t help so long as he had the pony; to-day he has seen some other beast he likes better, and wants to sell the lame pony.” The partners bought the pony, with the successful results anticipated by Barnato. “I wonder,” says Mr. Cohen, “whether any other man than Barnato would have been so closely observant as to notice that the pony finished his rounds without guidance and so probably knew all the usual stopping places of each day.”

* * * * *

In his biography of Mr. B. I. Barnato, Mr. Seymour says that one evening Mr. Barnato and Mr. Louis Cohen went to the Court Theatre, London. No seats had been booked; Barnato, as usual, had no money on him, and Louis Cohen had only a sovereign. Barnato borrowed this, saying that he would engineer the other shilling for their stalls somehow. Under the portico of the theatre was a man not quite blind, but with defective sight, who solicited charity. Barnato turned to Cohen and said:--“Do you mind, Lou, if we go to the circle instead of the stalls?” “Oh, no; just as you please.” Barnato then went to the office and asked for two circle seats. “Very sorry, sir, but all are gone. I can give you two side stalls if they will do.” A huge smile broke over Barnato’s face. “I have not come prepared to pay for stalls,” said he. “Very well, sir. You can have stalls for circle prices.” Barnato took his vouchers for the seats, went out to the man, gave him the whole five shillings change, and, turning to Cohen, said: “Now that is what I call finance.”

* * * * *

This is how Kimberley acquired its name. In 1871 the farm “Vooruitzigt” was proclaimed as a diamond digging. This name was declared by Lord Kimberley, then Secretary of State for the Colonies, to be unpronounceable. Some one then suggested the name “New Rush.” This Lord Kimberley declared to be too suggestive of rowdiness. Some one else then suggested that the town should be called after the Minister. This was adopted, and so the town was christened Kimberley.

* * * * *

Mr. Rhodes was very careless about trifling personal matters. There was a function in connection with the Kimberley Exhibition at which he was taking a leading part. When he arrived at the gates of the Exhibition, he found he had mislaid his pass, and the gatekeeper, not knowing him, refused him admission. Putting his hand into his pocket, Mr. Rhodes enquired the price of admission. “Two shillings,” replied the gatekeeper. Mr. Rhodes then discovered that he hadn’t any money about him. “I am afraid I have left my purse behind,” he said, “but I suppose my watch will do.” He then discovered that he had mislaid his watch also, and told the gatekeeper who he was. That functionary, however, was unconvinced, and it is probable that Mr. Rhodes would not have gained admission to the Exhibition had not some one lent him the required florin. Mr. Rhodes subsequently sent the gatekeeper five pounds as a reward for having so unhesitatingly done his duty.

* * * * *

Mr. Stuart Cumberland, in his book, “What I think of South Africa,” relates the following anecdote about “Barney” Barnato:

“I was a witness,” he says, “of a little joke Barney played upon a very august corporation. He was asked to write upon a form his name, place of residence and occupation. Down went the first, ‘B. I. Barnato,’ then ‘Spencer House,’ but when he came to occupation he hesitated. ‘How shall I describe myself?’ he asked. ‘Gentleman? no, that’s too elastic.’ ‘Dramatic author,’ I meekly suggested. (Barnato was then working at a play with Haddon Chambers). ‘That might do,’ he said, ‘only we should have Haddon Chambers saying I wasn’t, and then how should I stand? I have it--_toff_.’ And down went ‘toff’ on the paper. Presently the form came back with the enquiry what ‘toff’ meant. ‘Oh,’ replied Barnato, with an imperturbable countenance, ‘that’s the Hebrew for financial gentleman.’”

* * * * *

When the synagogue of the Johannesburg Hebrew Congregation was built, President Kruger was invited to perform the opening ceremony. He accepted the invitation, but the amazement of the hundreds of Israelites present may be imagined when the President announced, in his loudest tones:--“In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I declare this building open.”

* * * * *

Mr. Rhodes was very fond of discussing the various points of English politicians, and there was one member of the Gladstone Government of 1892 whom he cordially detested. He told me once, says Sir Lewis Michell, how he found himself seated next him at a dinner-party in London, and was so bored with him that in the middle of one of his arguments on some political problem he turned away from him and began talking to his other neighbour. “It was very rude of me, I know,” he said, “very rude. People who live in London can’t do these things--I can. I can do it on the basis of a barbarian!”

* * * * *

An old pioneer, invalided from Rhodesia by fever once called on Mr. Rhodes at Groote Schuur for relief. Out of work, out at elbows, and reduced to a pitiable state from privation, he was about to venture to state his case, when, to his inexpressible delight, he was hailed by name. Rhodes had recognised him, despite all changes. Putting his hand on the man’s shoulder, Rhodes said:--“Not a word, a good square meal first!” And to the kitchen he took him for that purpose, telling him to return to the stoep afterwards. He then heard his story, and gave him an order on his secretary in town to give him money for what clothes he wanted, and telling him to return the next day, which he did. He found Rhodes in a passion. “You only took ten shillings,” he cried. The man had been ashamed to ask for more. Rhodes at once took him to town in his own cart, went himself to the outfitters, completely clothed him, gave him money and a free pass back to his work. “I never,” he said, “forget an old face.”

* * * * *

An officer of the Cape garrison purchased a pair of leopards, and requested permission to bring them into his quarters in the Castle, but, as there were many young children in the barracks at the time, he was refused. He therefore left them in charge of a Malay in the neighbourhood. On going to claim them, the Malay said to him, much to the officer’s consternation:--“There are the pair,” pointing to one animal,“but one has eaten the other.”

* * * * *

The ignorance of colonial affairs formerly displayed in England is illustrated by the story of a War Office official who desired to know the reason why the chaplain at Grahamstown could not perform his evening service at Kingwilliamstown, being, presumably, entirely ignorant of the fact that the two towns are ninety miles asunder.

* * * * *

During the Boer War of 1881, when Pretoria was under martial law, a certain garrison officer was summoned upon two boards of enquiry--one referring to the case of a sick soldier, and the other to an attack of glanders in a horse. Mistaking the board when called in to give his opinion as to what was best to be done, he horrified the Court by advising them “to shoot him at once!”

* * * * *

Mr. Rhodes was once accused of changing his views rather hurriedly. “Yes,” he replied, “as hurriedly as I could, for I found I was wrong.”

* * * * *

Once, when twitted with his preference for young men, Mr. Rhodes retorted:--“Of course, of course, they must soon take up our work; we must teach them what to do and what to avoid.”

* * * * *

On another occasion, his sentimental attachment to the Boers was the matter of a jest. “They were the voortrekkers,” he replied, “the real pioneers. They have always led the way. It is your business to see that the flag follows.”

* * * * *

In 1881, during the visit of a showman named Duval to Kimberley, the following conversation between a country Dutchman and a town Dutchman was overheard on the market square of that town:--“What large bills are those on the walls?” asked the former. “Oh,” was the reply, “that is the advertisement of Duval, and Kimberley people go and see him every night.” The countryman expressed his abhorrence of “de duivel,” and declared he would not visit his Satanic Majesty’s play. The townsman then explained himself, but unfortunately added a description of the sudden metamorphoses effected by the actor. The countryman then put down his foot and raised his hand, declaring:--“Nu weet ek dat hij de duivel is; mij Bijbel zeg net zo van hem. Ik zal nooit om zo’n ding zien.” A free translation of which is:--“Now I know he is the devil; my Bible speaks of him just so. I will never go to such a thing.”

* * * * *

Mr. Rhodes once received a letter from an educated native, which contained the following passage:--

“I never forgotten the well-treatment I received from you at Queenstown. I consider you my father, and beg to inform you that I want to come and work for you at Cape Town.”

It is evident, says Sir Lewis Michell, that employment was given, for the letter is endorsed, in the handwriting of Rhodes:--“The faithful native! He worked a week, but found household duties beneath his dignity.”

* * * * *

There is a certain type of man in South Africa whose cry is: “Ah, you should have seen it before the war!” When the British Association paid their visit to South Africa a few years ago, and were admiring the beauties of the Southern Cross, a pre-war resident coming up gloomily from behind, cried: “Ah, you should have seen it before the war!”

* * * * *

Sir Bartle Frere once visited a farm owned by a man named Oberholzer, with whom he had a long conversation, astronomy being amongst the subjects discussed. Having explained that the planets shining above them were worlds like ours and composed of rocks and minerals much the same, Oberholzer pointed to the moon and expressed the opinion that, although it might contain many valuable minerals, he was sure there were no diamonds there.

“Why do you think that?” asked Sir Bartle Frere.

“Because,” replied the farmer, “if there were diamonds there you English would have annexed it long ago.” (At that period the dispute over the annexation of Griqualand West with its Diamond Fields had only just been settled.)

* * * * *

In 1896, whilst Rhodes was returning from England to South Africa by the eastern route, he decided to interview the Sultan of Turkey for the purpose of getting some stud Angora goats from him in order to endeavour to effect an improvement in the South African herds, which, owing to in-breeding and neglect, had deteriorated very greatly. His friends laughed at him, and said he could not possibly succeed; they even said: “You will not as much as be granted an interview.” “Well,” he replied, “I shall try, and if I fail it will be some satisfaction to know I have made an attempt.” The services of Sir Phillip Currie, as he then was, the British Ambassador at Constantinople, were enlisted on his behalf, and to his delight an interview was arranged for the following morning. About 10 a.m. the next day, he turned up at the Palace in his ordinary garb--a suit of flannel--and was met there by the Ambassador, whose face fell very much on seeing his costume. “Good gracious,” he said, “you can’t go to see the Sultan like that; you must go and get your frock coat.” “That is impossible,” replied Mr. Rhodes, “for I don’t possess one.” In the end a compromise was effected by his taking off his flannel jacket and squeezing into the Ambassador’s overcoat, which was very much too small for him. He met the Sultan, who was much taken with him, and agreed to let him have a considerable number of his Angoras, the benefit of which South Africa is reaping to-day.

* * * * *

When Sir George Grey was Governor of the Cape Colony he had occasion to travel up-country in a Cape cart, and on the road stopped at a wayside inn for breakfast. The bill for half-a-dozen boiled eggs and the same number of cups of tea was two pounds ten shillings. As the party were taking their seats in the Cape cart again Sir George observed to mine host “that eggs must be scarce on that line.” “Your Excellency,” observed the innkeeper, “eggs is plentiful. It is Governors that is scarce on this road.”

* * * * *

During one of the Matabele wars, Cecil Rhodes was lying down by his wagon, reading a book, his companions having left him for some purpose or other, when a trooper came across from the laager and said, “Good day.” “Good day” replied Rhodes. “Have you got any fish?” asked the man. Rhodes tumbled to the situation at once. “No,” said he, “I am sorry to say I’ve got no fish.” “Got no _fish_,” said the trooper, “have you got any _jam_?” “No,” replied Rhodes, “I’m sorry to say I’m out of jam.” “You’ve got no fish, and got no jam; what _have_ you got?” said the man. “You may as well ask that,” said Rhodes, “I’ve got precious little left, and what I have got they are trying to take away from me as fast as they can.” “I am sorry for that,” said the man, “but (looking at some six or eight books lying on the ground) you’ve got some books, I see, and (picking up one on Buddism) pretty deep subjects, too!” “Well,” said Rhodes, “I certainly do read a bit, that’s my recreation. You see, it’s pretty hard work selling fish and jam _all_ day.” “I should think it must be,” said the man. “Well, I’m sorry for you, for you’re a civil-spoken kind of chap, and I’m still more sorry that you’ve got no fish or jam, but it can’t be helped--good day.” “Good day,” said Rhodes, and the man went back to the laager. One wonders, says Sir Lewis Michell, in narrating this anecdote, what the man’s feelings were when he saw Rhodes riding with Plumer the next morning at the head of the column, and discovered that the man he had mistaken for a purveyor of tinned stores to the troops was the greatest Englishman of modern times.

* * * * *

About thirty years ago, a certain Cape Governor had occasion to visit a small dorp in the northern part of the Cape Colony. This dorp consisted of about a dozen houses, mostly built of tin, but an enormous area of hill, vale and plain spread around it on every side. At the end of the address which was presented by the Mayor and Corporation, there was a request that the Governor might be pleased to sanction an allotment from the revenue of the Colony of some thousands sterling for the purpose of carrying out a complete system of municipal drainage. One of the houses composing the town stood on a broad eminence; the remaining structures occupied detached points in a rather swampy valley. “I wondered what he would say,” says Sir William Butler, who was present on the occasion in question as a member of the Governor’s staff, “when the time came for the Governor to reply.” “Gentlemen,” said the Governor, after thanking the municipality, “I entirely sympathise with you in your natural desire to have your promising town placed in a position in regard to its drainage and sanitary conditions which will enable it to fulfil the requirements of its undoubted future, but the scheme you propose would be a costly one, and the finances of the Colony are not for the moment too redundant. Would it not be less expensive if we were to move the town up to the top of that hill where the single house now stands. It would then practically drain itself.”

* * * * *

Once there was a slump in Johannesburg, and a deputation from the Rand went to interview President Kruger in Pretoria. “Times are bad,” they said, and it was not their fault. The Government must do something for them. Oom Paul listened in silence, smoking. At last he took his pipe from his mouth, and replied: “Gentlemen, you remind me of a pet monkey I once had. He was very fond of me; he would never leave me alone. When anything happened that he did not like, he always ran to me. One winter’s night he was at my feet by the fire. Monkeys never sit quiet for long, and he kept twisting himself round about until at last he got his tail into the fire. He did it himself, gentlemen; I didn’t even know he was doing it, but all the same he turned and bit me in the leg.”

* * * * *

A certain smouser once visited a farmer, bought his wool, and after the wool had been weighed and the price per pound fixed, the smouser said: “So many pounds at so much comes to so much,” mentioning a sum about half the actual total. “No,” said the farmer, “it should be so much,” stating the real figure, and, to the smouzer’s amazement, produced a ready reckoner! With an air of surprise, the smouser said: “Let’s look at that book.” The farmer handed the book to the smouser and triumphantly pointed out the place. The smouser looked at the calculation, then turned to the title page and pointing to the date of publication, exclaimed, with an exultant laugh: “Why, you’ve got hold of last year’s ready reckoner,” and actually convinced the farmer that he had been swindled, not by the smouser, but by the man who had sold him the book!

* * * * *

A certain Frenchman, on hearing the news of the relief of Kimberley by General French, exclaimed: “Bon! Fashoda finds itself avenged. Behold, ze English are in the ze consomme, for ze French are in Kimberley.”

* * * * *

During the Zulu War of 1878, a Zulu spy was captured by some members of an irregular corps. The Sergeant-Major of the corps asked the O.C. what should be done with the spy. The officer at that particular moment was suffering from an injured shin and, being in a bad temper in consequence, replied shortly: “Oh, hang the bally spy!” Subsequently a court-martial was summoned to try the spy, and the Sergeant-Major was ordered to march up the prisoner. The Sergeant-Major, who was an Irishman, stared open-mouthed for a few seconds, and then said: “Plaze, sor, I can’t, sure, he’s hung, sor.” “Hung!” exclaimed the Commandant, who was standing within ear-shot. “Who ordered him to be hung?” “The O.C., sor,” replied the Sergeant-Major. “I ordered him to be hung?” then ejaculated the O.C., who was also present. “What do you mean?” “Shure, sor, when I asked you what was to be done with the spy, did you not say, sor, ‘Oh, hang the spoy,’ and there he is,” pointing to the slaughter poles, and sure enough there he was. The court-martial was postponed _sine die_.

* * * * *

In 1879, when Field-Marshal Sir Evelyn Wood--then Colonel Evelyn Wood--was in command of the column then encamped at Kambulu, in Natal, a trader came into the camp with wagons and asked permission to sell groceries to the troops. Permission was granted to him on the understanding that he had no alcohol of any description. It was later discovered that he was selling gin to the soldiers at a shilling a glass, and Colonel Wood executed summary justice by having the trader tied to the wheel of his own wagon and giving him two dozen lashes. A few weeks later Colonel Wood received a summons issued on behalf of the trader, claiming damages to the tune of £5,000. This summons he ignored. “Some time afterwards,” says Sir Evelyn Wood, in “From Midshipman to Field Marshal,” “I was riding one morning into Utrecht when I met a horseman, who, stopping me, asked if he was on the right road to Colonel Wood’s camp, and also whether the road was safe. I told him he was quite safe until he got to Balte Spruit. ‘What sort of a man is this Colonel Wood?’ he asked. ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘some people like him and some people dislike him.’ ‘I have been told that he is very rough.’ ‘Yes, that is so--when he is vexed.’ ‘I am an officer of the High Court of the Transvaal, and I am going to him with a writ; do you think he will be violent with me?’ ‘Oh, no, I am certain he won’t.’ ‘Then you think there is no risk so far as he is concerned?’ ‘None whatever; but you had better not mention your business in the camp, as his own battalion is at Kambulu Hill, and it might be bad for you if the men got to know your errand.’ ‘Why, what do you think they will do to me--kill me?’ ‘Oh, no; the worst that would happen to you would be to be tarred and feathered.’ ‘I don’t like this job that I am on. I think, if you will allow me, I’d like to turn back and ride with you to Utrecht and send the document by post.’ Accordingly we rode along together, and I showed him the post office in the little town before I went about my business.”

* * * * *

When Mark Twain visited South Africa, he was asked by an eminent Africander what he thought of South African affairs. “Well,” replied Mark Twain, “after I had been in Cape Town a week and had heard both sides of the question, I thought I had mastered it. Then I went to Kimberley, and met with a totally different view. Up in Bulawayo there was quite another story, and in Johannesburg a different opinion was heard, while in Pretoria I might as well have been in another country. When I reached Bloemfontein----” “Yes?” said the eminent Africander, “what conclusion did you come to?” “Well,” said Mark Twain, “the only conclusion I could arrive at was that the South African question was a very good subject for a fool to let alone.”

* * * * *