the days of my life-第20章

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t　enough　in　other　respects；　owing　to　a　lack　of　military　training　I　was　not　well　acquainted　with　the　ceremonial　words　of　mand。　When　the　High　missioner　appeared　I　ordered　the　corps　to　present　arms；　which　they　did　in　fine　style。　But　arms　cannot　always　be　kept　at　the　“present；”　and　in　due　course　it　became　necessary　that　they　should　be　returned　to　their　original　position。　Then　arose　my　difficulty。　I　had　either　neglected　to　provide　myself　with　or　had　forgotten　the　exact　words　that　should　be　used。　Yet　the　occasion　was　urgent：　something　had　to　be　done。　So　I　shouted　in　stentorian　tones　—　or　so　at　least　my　military　friends　used　to　swear　afterwards　when　they　wanted　to　chaff　me；　though　to　this　hour　I　do　not　believe　them　—　“Put　’em　back　again！”　Well；　it　served。　The　Pretoria　Horse　grinned　and　the　arms　went　back。
I　saw　Sir　Bartle　a　good　many　times　while　he　was　in　Pretoria；　being　brought　in　touch　with　him　not　only　as　an　official　but　because　he　and　my　mother　had　been　friends　when　they　were　young　together　in　India。　He　was　a　tall；　refined…looking　man　of　about　sixty…five；　who　always　seemed　to　me　to　be　employed　in　collecting　first…hand　information；　questioning　everyone　whom　he　met　on　the　chance　of　extracting　something　of　value。　I　think　that　occasionally　the　Colonial　officials　and　others　rather　resented　his　continual　cross…examination。　Indeed　there　is　a　trace　of　this　in　a　report　that　he　wrote　to　the　Colonial　Office　as　to　Shepstone’s　character；　dated　February　1879；　in　which　document　he　plained　that　he　could　not　get　as　much　out　of　Sir　Theophilus　as　he　would　have　wished。　Now　knowing　my　Chief　as　well　as　I　did；　my　conclusion　is　that　he　did　not　altogether　like　being　pumped；　especially　as　he　was　not　sure　what　use　would　be　made　of　the　information　or　if　it　would　be　correctly　assimilated。　Shepstone　was　always　open　enough　with　those　whom　he　thoroughly　knew　and　trusted；　but　these；　I　admit；　were　not　very　many　in　number。　Sir　Bartle　describes　him　as　“a　singular　type　of　an　Africander　Talleyrand；　shrewd；　observant；　silent；　self…contained；　immobile。”　So　he　may　have　appeared　to　him；　but　I　doubt　whether　he　ever　really　understood　the　man　or　with　what　keys　to　unlock　his　heart。
In　short；　I　imagine　that　when　he　was　in　Frere’s　pany　Shepstone　always　remained　more　or　less　on　the　defensive。　Whatever　may　be　the　truth　of　this　matter；　Sir　Bartle　makes　one　undoubted　mistake　in　the　paper　from　which　I　have　quoted。　He　says　that　Shepstone　had　no　sort　of　sympathy　with　the　Boers。　This　was　not　the　case；　as　I　know　from　many　talks　with　him。　He　was　full　of　sympathy　for　the　Boers；　and　understood　them　as　few　men　did。　Moreover　he　appreciated　all　their　good　points；　and　most　of　them　admired　and　were　attached　to　him　personally。　Had　this　not　been　so　he　could　never　have　annexed　the　Transvaal　with　such　parative　ease。　Moreover　it　should　be　remembered　that　all　the　acute　troubles　with　the　Boers　arose　after　his　departure　from　that　country。
In　my　opinion；　if　I　may　venture　to　give　it；　Sir　Bartle　Frere　was　a　great　administrator　and　almost　a　great　man。　But　I　do　not　think　he　was　suited　to　the　position　in　which　he　found　himself。　Had　Lord　Carnarvon　been　a　better　judge　of　men　and　of　character；　he　would　not　have　appointed　Frere　to　the　High　missionership　of　South　Africa。　Frere　imported　into　South　Africa　the　methods　of　the　great　Indian　administrators；　and　attempted　to　apply　to　peoples　as　far　apart　in　all　essentials　of　habit　and　of　character　as　is　the　North　Pole　from　the　Tropics　the　policy　that　he　had　learned　in　the　training　and　traditions　of　the　East。
Had　he　been　a　younger　man　he　might　have　adapted　himself；　and　without　altering　his　principles；　which　were　just　and　good；　changed　the　manner　of　their　application。　But　age　had　already　overtaken　him　when　he　landed　at　the　Cape。　He　looked　upon　the　Zulus　as　though　they　had　been　some　Indian　clan　whom　he；　the　Satrap；　had　only　to　lift　his　hand　to　sweep　away　in　the　interests　of　the　mighty　and　remote　Dominion　which　he　served。　He　overlooked　the　wide　divergence　of　the　circumstances　of　the　two　lands　and　of　the　plications　introduced　by　the　existence　in　South　Africa　of　two　white　peoples　—　the　English　and　the　Dutch　—　hereditary　foes；　who　only　awaited　the　removal　of　a　mon　danger　to　spring　at　each　other’s　throats。　I　do　not　believe　that　he　ever　grasped　the　problem　in　its　entirety　as；　for　instance；　Shepstone　did。　He　saw　the　Zulu　war　cloud　looming　on　the　frontier　of　Natal　and　determined　to　burst　it　even　if　it　should　rain　blood。　But　he　did　not　see　that　by　this　act　of　his；　which；　after　all；　might　perhaps　have　been　postponed；　he　was　ensuring　the　rebellion　of　the　Transvaal　Dutch。　His　Indian　traditions　came　into　and　dominated　his　mind。　Yonder　was　a　savage　people　who　threatened　the　rights　of　the　Crown　and　the　safety　of　its　subjects。　Let　them　be　destroyed！　Fiat　justitia　ruat　coelum！
Even　at　this　distance　of　time　it　is　difficult　to　speak　of　the　treatment　meted　out　to　this　most　upright　public　servant　and　distinguished　man；　who；　be　it　remembered；　had　only　accepted　his　office　at　the　urgent　prayer　of　the　British　Government；　without　using　words　of　burning　indignation。　By　the　Liberals　he　was　of　course　attacked；　since　his　action　gave　them　a　convenient　stick　wherewith　to　beat　the　Government。　This　was　to　be　expected。　What　was　not　to　be　expected　was　the　lack　of；　or　rather　the　half…hearted　nature　of　the　support　which　he　received　from　his　official　superiors。　About　this　time　Lord　Carnarvon　resigned　the　Colonial　Secretaryship　owing　to　some　difference　of　opinion　between　himself　and　his　colleagues　on　other　matters；　which；　in　view　of　the　state　of　South　African　affairs；　many　people　will　think　he　might　have　overlooked；　and　Sir　Michael　Hicks　Beach　filled　his　place。
The　next　step　in　the　persecution　of　Sir　Bartle　Frere　was　to　attack　him　through　his　pocket；　as　Shepstone　was　afterwards　attacked　in　the　same　way。　A　certain　special　allowance　of　2000　pounds　a　year；　which　he　had　made　one　of　the　conditions　of　his　acceptance　of　office；　was　publicly　withdrawn　from　him。　This　was　done　by　Lord　Kimberley；　the　Liberal　Secretary　of　State　for　the　Colonies　in　1880；　and　as　even　then　Frere　would　not　allow　himself　to　be　goaded　into　resignation　over　a　money　matter；　a　few　months　later　the　sacrifice　was　pleted。　He　was　recalled　with　ignominy；　no　other　word　seems　to　meet　the　case。　He　retired　to　England　to　die；　as　thought　many　of　his　friends；　of　a　broken　heart。　Thus　did　Britain　reward　her　faithful　servant　whose　greatest　crime　was　an　error　of　judgment；　if　indeed　he　really　erred；　a　matter　that　may　well　be　argued。　Well；　he　took　with　him　the　love　and　respect　of　every　loyal　man　in　South　Africa；　and　oils　are　forgotten；　his　name　will　shine　on　serene　and　untarnished　in　the　sky　of　history。
To　return　to　my　personal　reminiscences　of　this　great　Governor。　During　the　year　1877；　in　an　unguarded　moment　I　wrote　an　article　descriptive　of　my　visit　to　Secocoeni；　which　was　published　in　an　English　magazine。　In　the　course　of　this　article　I　gave　an　accurate　and　lively　account　of　the　menage　of　an　ordinary　Transvaal　Boer；　in　the　course　of　which　I　was　so　foolish　as　to　say　that　the　ladies　were；　for　the　most　part；　plain　and　stout。　I　do　not　think　that　I　signed　the　paper；　but　from　internal　evidence　it　was　traced　back　to　me；　and；　needless　to　say；　translated　into　Dutch　by　the　journals　of　the　Cape　Colony。　Then　a　great　hubbub　arose；　and　ultimately；　two　years　later；　the　matter　came　to　the　ears　of　Sir　Bartle　Frere。
He　sent　for　me　and　very　rightly　reproached　me　for　my　indiscretion。　In　defence　I　replied　that　I　had　written　no　word　that　was　not　the　strict　and　absolute　truth。
“Haggard；”　he　said　in　his　suave　voice；　“do　you　not　know　that　there　are　occasions　on　which　the　truth　is　the　last　thing　that　should　be　uttered？　I　beg　you　in　future　to　keep　it　to　yourself。”
I　bethought　me　of　Talleyrand’s　saying　that　language　was　given　to　us　to　conceal　our　thoughts；　but　did　not；　I　think；　attempt　to　cap　the　argument　by　its　quotation。　In　fact；　his　censure　was　well　deserved。　As　St。　Paul　teaches　us；　all　things　may　be　lawful；　but　all　things　are　not　expedient；　and　at　this　juncture　it　was　certainly　inexpedient　to　make　little　jokes　about　the　uncountable　fleas　in　Boer　bedsteads。
Another　noted　man　who　visited　us　was　Mr。　Anthony　Trollope；　who　rushed　through　South　Africa　in　a　post…cart；　and；　as　a　result；　published　his　impressions　of　that　country。　My　first　introduction　to　him　was　amusing。　I　had　been　sent　away　on　some　mission；　I　think　it　was　to　Rustenberg；　and　returned　to　Government　House　late　one　night。　On　going　into　the　room　where　I　was　then　sleeping　I　began　to　search　for　matches；　and　was　surprised　to　hear　a　gruff　voice；　proceeding　from　my　bed；　asking　who　the　deuce　I　was。　I　gave　my　name　and　asked　who　the　deuce　the　speaker　might　be。
“Anthony　Trollope；”　replied　the　gruff　voice；　“Anthony　Trollope。”
Mr。　Trollope　was　a　man　who　concealed　a　kind　heart　under　a　somewhat　rough　manner；　such　as　does　not　add　to　the　fort　of　colonial　travelling。
I　think　that　my　most　pleasant　recollections　of　the　Transvaal　are　those　connected　with　my　journeys　on　circuit　in　pany　with　Judge　Kotze。　Generally　we　travelled　in　an　ox…waggon　from　town　to　town；　and　employed　our　leisure　as　we　went　in　shooting；　for　at　that　time　parts　of　the　Transvaal　veld　were　still　black　with　game。　Then　at　night　we　would　sit　by　our　camp　fire　eating　the　dinner　which　I　always　cooked　—　for　I　was　very　expert　at　the　culinary　art　—　or；　if　it　were　wet　and　cold；　in　our　waggon；　where　we　read　Shakespeare　to　each　other　till　it　was　time　to　go　to　bed。
One　such　night　I　remember　well；　it　was　on　the　high　veld　somewhere　in　the　neighbourhood　of　Lake　Chrissie；　where　the　duck…shooting　was　magnificent。　We　read　“Romeo　and　Juliet”　and　went　to　sleep　in　due　course。　At　dawn　I　poked　my　head　between　the　curtains　of　the　waggon；　and　in　the　dense　mist　that　rolled　around　us　saw　a　great　herd　of　blesbuck　feeding　all　about　the　waggon。　I　woke　the　Judge；　and　reaching　down　our　rifles；　we　opened　fire。　He　missed　his　blesbuck　but　I　killed　two　at　one　shot；　a　thing　I　had　never　done　before。　Truth　pels　me　to　add　that　the　Judge　claimed　one　of　them；　but　on　that　point　I　was　unable　to　accept　his　learned　decision。
On　one　of　these　journeys　I　nearly　came　to　a　bad　end。　On　a　certain　morning　before　breakfast　I　wounded　a　bull　wildebeest；　breaking　one　of　its　hind　hocks；　and　mounting　a　famous　hunting　horse　that　I　had；　named　Moresco；　started　to　ride　it　down。　But　that　wildebeest　would　not　be　ridden　down；　at　least　for　a　very　long　while。　Being　thin；　notwithstanding　its　injury　it　went　like　the　wind；　and　finally　led　me　into　a　vast　pany　of　its　fellows：　I　think　there　must　have　been　three　or　four　hundred　of　them。　When　once　he　began　to　gallop　game；　Moresco　was　a　horse　that　could　not　be　held；　the　only　thing　to　do　was　to　let　him　have　his　head。　Into　that　herd　he　plunged；　keeping　his　eye　fixed　upon　the　wounded　beast；　which　in　the　end　he　cut　out　from　among　them。
On　we　went　again　and　got　into　a　great　patch　of　ant…bear　holes。　Some　he　dodged；　some　he　jumped；　but　at　length　went　up　to　his　chest　in　one　of　them；　throwing　me　on　to　his　neck。　Recovering　himself　with　marvellous　activity；　he　literally　jerked　me　back　into　the　saddle　with　a　toss　of　his　head；　and　we　proceeded　in　our　wild　career。　The　end　of　it　was　that　at　last　the　bull　was　ridden　to　a　standstill；　but　I　could　not　pull　up　Moresco　to　get　a　shot　at　it。　He　went　at　the　beast　as　though　he　were　going　to　eat　it。　The　bull　charged　us；　and　Moresco　only　avoided　disaster　by　sitting　down　on　his　tail。　As　the　beast　passed　underneath　his　head　I　held　out　my　rifle　with　one　hand　and　pulled　the　trigger；　the　bullet　went　through　its　heart　and　it　dropped　like　a　stone。　Then　I　tied　my　handkerchief　to　its　horn　in　order　to　scare　away　the　aasvogel；　and　rode　off　to　find　the　camp　in　order　to　get　assistance。
All　that　day　I　rode；　but　I　never　found　the　camp　on　those　vast；　rolling　plains。　Once　towards　sunset　I　thought　that　I　saw　the　white　caps　of　the　waggons　five　or　six　miles　away。　I　rode　to　them　to　discover　that　they　were　but　white　stones。　A　tremendous　thunderstorm　came　on　and　wetted　me　to　the　skin。　In　the　gloom　the　horse　put　his　foot　upon　a　rolling　stone　that　gave　me　a　terrible　fall　that　bruised　and　nearly　knocked　the　senses　out　of　me。
After　lying　a　while　I　recovered。　Mounting　again；　I　remembered　that　when　I　left　the　waggons　the　rising　sun　had　struck　me　in　the　face。　So　I　rode　on　towards　the　west　until　utter　darkness　overtook　me。　Then　I　dismounted；　slipped　the　horse’s　reins　over　my　arm；　and；　lying　down　on　the　fire…swept　veld；　placed　the　saddle…cloth　over　me　to　try　to　protect　myself　against　the　cold；　which　at　that　season　of　the　year　was　very　bitter　on　this　high　land。　Wet　through；　exhausted；　shaken；　and　starved　as　I　was　—　for　I　had　eaten　nothing　since　the　previous　night　—　my　position　was　what　might　be　called　precarious。　Game　trekked　past　me；　I　could　see　their　outlines　by　the　light　of　such　stars　as　there　were。　Then　hyenas　came　and　howled　about　me。　I　had　three　cartridges　left；　and　fired　two　of　them　in　the　direction　of　the　howls。　By　an　afterthought　I　discharged　the　third　straight　up　into　the　air。　Then　I　lay　down　and　sank　into　a　kind　of　torpor；　from　which　I　was　aroused　by　the　sound　of　distant　shouts。　I　answered　them；　and　the　shouts　grew　nearer；　till　at　length　out　of　the　darkness　emerged　my　Zulu　servant；　Mazooku。
It　seemed　that　this　last　shot　saved　me；　for　really　I　do　not　know　what　would　have　happened　if　I　had　l