CHAPTER XXVI
WANTED, A MILLIONAIRE
_A number as sparkling as a string of jewels--Joke Portrait Number Two._
A singular thing about THE FRIEND was that the readers could make sure at a glance, each afternoon, what had been the spirits of the editors earlier in the day. The issue of April 13th was positively frisky. We were all in our gayest moods, and the principal page was made to sparkle with most unlooked-for fun and flashes of wit.
Mr. Landon set out with his pen in search of an English millionaire who would supply us daily with a budget of home news cabled direct to us from London. Continually disappointed by the non-arrival of the Reuter despatches, he urged that some wealthy man should pay to have a long special cablegram sent to us daily, with a hint of all the world's happenings. "To us," did I say? no; for, as Mr. Landon expressed it, "All there is of THE FRIEND belongs to the Army. Its existence began for the soldier, and its profits pass back to his interests. If some of the kind-hearted people in England who are so ready to put their hands in their pockets in the interests of 'The Soldiers of the Queen,' only knew what the dearth of news from England means to the men, they would at once supply the want." It is too late now. That editorial never was copied in the English papers, I suppose; but you millionaires who want to reach Heaven--and you others who want to earn handles to put before your names--remember this in the next war, and send news to your army wherever it is halted in the field.
We found that the newsboys were charging two-pence for THE FRIEND, and that many complaints were pouring in upon us; therefore, in the blackest type, I rhymed to the readers--that being the most likely way to impress them with the truth--in couplets such as this--
Who pays a penny for THE FRIEND, Pays all he needs to gain his end.
and this--
Whoever pays us more than a penny, Should guard his brains, if he has any.
Fancy me dropping into rhyme! But, as I have said, the "Tommies" all did verse--or worse--and the example was epidemically contagious. Perhaps in another month we should have all turned versifiers, and produced copies of THE FRIEND wholly in rhyme.
In this number we published portrait No. 2 of our unique gallery, selecting Lord Stanley as the subject. My son Lester had made a cartoon in which the censor figured, and with which, for a very peculiar reason, Lord Stanley was not pleased, but this second venture of the family to do him justice in portraiture was eminently successful. It was precisely the same picture as that which we called a portrait of Mr. Burdett-Coutts on the previous day, but though Lord Stanley knew the joke no one else saw it. One of the censor's friends took from me a damp fresh copy of the paper, as I came out of the works with an armful, and looking at the portrait remarked, "I say, I did not know that Lord Stanley had an imperial--'goatee,' as you call it--funny I never noticed that he wears one. Devilish good portrait; clever of you to publish it." Mr. Burdett-Coutts was the only other man beside Lord Stanley to understand what we were doing. He fathomed the joke because we explained it to him, and I sincerely hope that he appreciated the pure fun and harmless pleasantry of the spirit in which it was conceived and carried out.
We had, from a coloured man, a letter complaining that we declared the British policy to be "equal rights for all white men, without respect of race or creed." To this he objected. He said that we were advocating the policy of the Republics, and added, "I would like to point out to you that when once your policy is known in this colony by our people it will cause universal dissatisfaction." He was presumably one of those natives, most numerous in the towns, who, by reason of their intelligence and ambition, deserve most helpful, generous consideration. But the "Universal dissatisfaction" which he threatened would include a myriad negroes of the Karroo and the so-called "farms" of the Boers. These form the mass of the natives; clothed in their complexions and living in huts of twigs and matting. Equality with white men can be offered to them by statute; but they cannot realise it, and the world has seen mischief, unhappiness, and perplexing political problems result from over-haste in this direction.
We did succeed in arousing an artist to defend his calling against the boasts of the mechanical manipulation of the camera. Mr. W. B. Wollen, R.I., was the champion of art, and he spoke for it with the ardour of conviction, and the force of one who is right and cannot be gainsaid.
I cannot think why we omitted to call upon Mortimer Menpes, Esq., the distinguished painter, then in Bloemfontein, to add his views to the series of letters we hoped to secure upon this subject, the Camera _v._ Art. Mr. Menpes had come to the war because, he said, nothing else was talked or thought of in London, and an exhibition of paintings of ordinary subjects, such as he gives with distinguished success each year, would have fallen flat. He was very busy, very popular, and very successful with the army. This issue (April 13) contained a witty letter by him upon the postage stamp craze.
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PRICE: PRICE: ONE PENNY. THE FRIEND. ONE PENNY.
(_Edited by the War Correspondents with Lord Roberts' Force._)
BLOEMFONTEIN, GOOD FRIDAY, APRIL 13, 1900.
PROCLAMATION.
TO THE INHABITANTS OF THE DISTRICTS OF ALBERT, STEYNSBURG, MOLTENO, WODEHOUSE, ALIWAL NORTH, BARKLY EAST AND COLESBERG.
On the recent retirement of the enemy to the north of the Orange River, the rebels who had joined them in the Northern Districts of Cape Colony were treated by Her Majesty's Government with great leniency in being permitted, if not the ringleaders of disaffection, to return to their farms on the condition of surrendering their arms and of being liable to be called to account for their past conduct.
I now warn the inhabitants of the Northern Districts, and more particularly those who were misguided enough to join or assist the enemy, that, in the event of their committing any further act of hostility against Her Majesty, they will be treated, as regards both their persons and property, with the utmost rigour, and the extreme penalties of Martial Law will be enforced against them.
ROBERTS, Field Marshal, Commander-in-Chief, South Africa. Army Headquarters, Bloemfontein, _April 9, 1900_.
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OUR PORTRAIT GALLERY.
It is with great pleasure that we present to our readers to-day a portrait of Lord Stanley, the present popular Press Censor with Lord Roberts' Field Force in South Africa. The portrait is by W. B. Wollen, R.I., and is a masterpiece. We like it, but we are surprised that the censor should wear precisely such an antediluvian collar as we saw on Mr. Burdett-Coutts in yesterday's view of our Portrait Gallery.
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THE ABSENT-BODIED BURGHER.
BY A. B. PATTERSON.
_A Screaming Farce now being played daily with great success in the Theatre of War near Bloemfontein._
CHARACTERS:
1. JACOBUS JOHANNES VAN DER MAUSER (The absent-bodied Burgher).
2. KATINKA VAN DER MAUSER (His Wife).
3. REGINALD TALBOT DE VERE-CROESUS (English Cavalry Officer).
_Scene_: A Farm in the Free State. Pony saddled at the door. J. J. van der Mauser preparing to mount.
J. J. VAN DER MAUSER (_Centre of Stage_). Katinka! Katinka! Bring me the old rifle that is in the barn among the sheep-skins. The old muzzle-loading Boer rifle, with which my ancestor, the great Ten-britches van der Mauser shot the lion in the days of the Great Trek.
KATINKA: Nay, Jan! Pause and reflect! 'Twill blow thy head off. It has not been fired these thirty years.
JAN: Nay, woman! I purpose not to fire it. I intend to hand it in to the British--I only wish they'd try to let it off! Then will I return speedily, provided with a pass, and go up into the laager to do a little Rooinek shooting. While I am gone, Katinka, be not afraid. The English will put a sentry on the farm so that not a blade of grass shall be touched, not an onion taken from the ground. Be diligent, and sell them all the butter you can.
KATINKA: The proclamation says the price of butter is to be two-and-sixpence a pound!
JAN: Then don't take a penny less than three shillings and sixpence. If you run short of milk, drive in the cows of our neighbour Smith, who has fled to the English. And Katinka (_whispers tenderly_), if you see the Rooineks out in the open, don't stand anywhere near them, darling! You might get hit! You understand? Now, farewell!
(_Proceeds to pull on an extra pair of breeches, and so goes off to the laager, while the band plays "My dear old Dutch."_)
[Interval of some days, during which the British encamp near the farm, and Katinka sells them, at famine prices, every drop of milk and every pound of butter that the cows will yield, and every egg that the hens can be induced to lay.]
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