me in every way that filled me with shame at my unworthiness. There are some women nobler than men and I thank God I have met one or two of them that have heightened my estimate of the possibilities of human goodness.
CHAPTER II
While we were traveling through the Red Sea, my mind had turned naturally to Colonial problems, for it was not possible, nor even desirable, to be concerned with Winnie all the time. Perhaps the most useful way to reveal my thoughts would have been to contrast the characters of Cecil Rhodes and the German Kaiser. The former was without doubt an Empire Builder; the latter, as few men before 1914 realized, was an Empire Destroyer. But two such portraits would have taken me beyond the scope of the present part of my memoir. For this reason, using the personality of Rhodes as a kind of springboard, I shall attempt to record exactly what my thoughts were at the time. I have since found no reason to alter them.
As early as 1887 at the Colonial Conference in London, Rhodes had outlined the true colonial policy of England in the future. There was no snobbishness in him and he saw that the despotism of the aristocratic class was out of keeping with modern ideas. He told me once that if there had been any brains in English rulers, the seat of government would have been settled for five years in Washington and then five years in London. To him “the British constitution” was an absurd anachronism and should have been remodeled on the lines of the American Union with federal self-governing colonies as the constituent states.
Rhodes had many faults, but there was greatness in him and in the main he seemed to gravitate to what was right. He made dreadful mistakes: He could not believe that Kruger would fight. He was the only man in South Africa of any position who held that view. He believed too that the English would beat the Boers easily and again he found himself mistaken. But he was the ablest exponent of the true imperialism.
At the beginning of the century when the war was practically over, he addressed a meeting of the South Africa League in Cape Town and his words deserve to be remembered:
“The Dutch are not beaten; what is beaten is Krugerism, a corrupt and evil government, no more Dutch in essence than English. No! The Dutch are as vigorous and unconquered today as they have ever been; the country is still as much theirs as it is yours, and you will have to live and work with them hereafter as in the past. Remember that when you go back to your homes in the towns or in the up-country farms and villages, let there be no vaunting words, no vulgar triumph over your Dutch neighbors; make them feel that the bitterness is past and that the need of cooperation is greater than ever. Teach your children to remember when they go to their village school that the little Dutch boys and girls they find sitting on the same benches with them are as much part of the South African nation as they are themselves, and that as they learn the same lessons together now, so hereafter they must work together as comrades for a common objectthe good of South Africa.”
In the three of four years of the war he had changed physically to an astonishing extent; he had become puffy-faced and bloated, but his high purposes held. His first will had been made when he was a youth of 24. In his final will of 1899, he published his resolve to found a great educational scheme to apply to all the English-speaking portions of the world. He gave scholarships to young Americans, Germans and others to enable them to study in Oxford.
It is not time yet to judge the full effect of these “Rhodes scholarships,” but that they have done good is certain.
His private life no one knew much about. He had a secretary once who told me stories of his erotic tendencies worthy of Oscar Wilde, but I never believed them wholeheartedly. Rhodes always seemed to me to be lacking in virility, political ideas engrossed his attention when really good erotic tales scarcely induced him to listen. And in Cape Town where he was well-known, his reputation in this respect was never assailed.
The end of his life was tragiche had drunk too much for years, eaten too much, too, and his heart began to give way. The Princess Radziwill had been connected with him in some way and had forged his name to a number of bills of exchange. He had to go to Cape Town to defend himself. He gave his evidence practically on his death bed, but his last home was chosen for him carefully by Dr. Jameson who brought him to a little cottage at Muizesberg near the sea where he could look out over the great ocean and get the cool breezes. They rigged up a sort of cable over his bed and here he used to hang when his heart fluttered and his breathing became difficult. His old friends all wrote to him affectionately. Hofmeyr was the first to send him a message of reconciliation and daily cables came from friends in London.
Dying, Rhodes reached his true height. “Everything in the world is too short,” he said one day, “life and fame and achievements, everything is too short.” Just before his death on March 26, 1902, he was heard to say: “So little done, so much to do.” It might well be his epitaph.
I feel that I ought to tell something about Rhodes' greatest rival, Paul Kruger, the President of the Transvaal, though in statecraft he was no match for Rhodes. It was said that when a young man, he was the greatest athlete in the country. He was just six feet in height and was, it was said, an extraordinary runner, and possessed, besides, extraordinary strength.
It was Sir James Sivewright who told me that on one occasion Kruger ran a footrace against the pick of Kaffir braves. There were large prizes of good cattle. It was a long day's run across country past certain well-known landmarksamongst others, his own father's house. Young Kruger soon distanced all his pursuers, and when he reached his father's house, he was so far ahead that he went in and had some coffee. His father, however, was so angry with him for running across country without his rifle that he very nearly gave his son a flogging. He made the boy take a light rifle with him when he left to finish his race.
On sped young Kruger, the Kaffir braves toiling after him as well as they could. They threw away their impediments as their muscles weakened; their path became strewn with shields, spears, clubs, and even the bangles they wore on their legs and arms. But in spite of it all, Paul Kruger kept far ahead of them.
His speed on foot was so extraordinary that it was commonly said that he could outrun a horse, and I believe that on one occasion he did. Of course, the myth faculty came into play, and it was usually said that Kruger ran faster than a horse can gallop for half a mile, which, was utterly impossible. In truth, over twelve hours he did, I believe, surpass a horse.
Another story equally strange was told me. Kruger had been chasing buffalo, and his horse had brought him close up to his victim. Suddenly the huge beast put his foot into a hole, and fell head-over-heels into a swamp. Kruger was on top of it in a moment, horse, rider and buffalo all rolling pell-mell in the same soft ground. Kruger was the first to collect his wits. He sprang at the head of the buffalo, seized both its horns in his hands, and while the beast lay upon its side, twisted its neck so as to force its nose under water; thus, after a struggle, Kruger killed the buffalo, drowning it by sheer strength. I had heard this story already in Cape Town, but would not believe it until I had the President's corroboration of this extraordinary feat.
It was the same Sivewright, the Minister of Public Works in the Cape Colony, who told me that he once called upon Kruger with a certain English duke, who was by no means conceited, but was somewhat deficient in diplomacy. The conversation, as I recall it, ran about as follows. Of course it was conducted by means of an interpreter.
“Tell the President that I am the Duke and have come to pay my respects to him.”
Kruger gave a grunt signifying welcome.
“Tell him that I am a member of the English Parliament,” said the Duke after a long pause.
Kruger gave another grunt, puffing his pipe.
After a still longer pause: “Andyou might tell him that I amera member of the House of Lordsa Lordyou know.”
Kruger puffed as before, and nodded his head, with another grunt. Then, turning, he said gruffly, “Tell the Englishman that I was a cattle-herder.”
There was no snobbishness in Kruger, but he possessed great obstinacy and he was as combative as a bull- terrier. I told him that he had better give in to Chamberlain, and give the Englishman the pride of a victory in words, “or else,” I said, “you may be sure there will be war, which will help no one.”
Kruger said: “You may be right, but the issue is in the hands of God. I can only do what I regard as right, and the issue is not so certain as you think. We Boers are hard to beat.” He afterwards sent for me saying that I was
