South Africa; vol I.

by Anthony Trollope

King Williamstown was the capital of British Kafraria, and is now the seat of a British Regiment. I am afraid that at this moment it is the Head Quarters of much more than one. This perhaps will be the best place in which to say a few words on the question of keeping British troops in the Cape Colony. It is held to be good colonial doctrine that a Colony which governs itself, which levies and uses its own taxes, and which does in pretty nearly all things as seems good to itself in its own sight, should pay its own bills;—and among other bills any bill that may be necessary for its own defence. Australia has no British soldiers,—not an English redcoat; nor has Canada, though Canada be for so many miles flanked by a country desirous of annexing it. My readers will remember too that even while the Maoris were still in arms the last regiment was withdrawn from New Zealand,—so greatly to the disgust of New Zealand politicians that the New Zealand Minister of the day flew out almost in mutiny against our Secretary of State at the time. But the principle was maintained, and the measure was carried, and the last regiment was withdrawn. But at that time ministerial responsibility and parliamentary government had not as yet been established in the Cape Colony, and there were excuses for British soldiers at the Cape which no longer existed in New Zealand.

Now parliamentary government and ministerial responsibility are as strong at Capetown as at Wellington, but the British troops still remain in the Cape Colony. There will be, I think, when this book is published more than three regiments in the Colony or employed in its defence. The parliamentary system began only in 1872, and it may be alleged that the withdrawal of troops should be gradual. It may be alleged also that the present moment is peculiar, and that the troops are all this time specially needed. It should, however, be remembered that when the troops were finally withdrawn from New Zealand, disturbance among the Maoris was still rampant there. I suppose there can hardly be a doubt that it is a subject on which a so called Conservative Secretary of State may differ slightly from a so called Liberal Minister. Had Lord Kimberley remained in office there might possibly be fewer soldiers in the Cape Colony. But the principle remains, and has I think so established itself that probably no Colonial Secretary of whatever party would now deny its intrinsic justice.

Then comes the question whether the Cape Colony should be made an exception, and if so why. I am inclined to think that no visitor travelling in the country with his eyes open, and with capacity for seeing the things around him, would venture to say that the soldiers should be withdrawn now, at this time. Looking back at the nature of the Kafir wars, looking round at the state of the Kafir people, knowing as he would know that they are armed not only with assegais but with guns, and remembering the possibilities of Kafir warfare, he would hesitate to leave a quarter of a million of white people to defend themselves against a million and a half of warlike hostile Natives. The very withdrawal of the troops might itself too probably cause a prolonged cessation of that peace to which the Kafir Chiefs have till lately felt themselves constrained by the presence of the red coats, and for the speedy re-establishment of which the continued presence of the red coats is thought to be necessary. The capable and clearsighted stranger of whom I am speaking would probably decline to take such responsibility upon himself, even though he were as strong in the theory of colonial self-defence as was Lord Granville when he took the soldiers away from New Zealand.

But it does not follow that on that account he should think that the Cape Colony should be an exception to a rule which as to other Colonies has been found to be sound. It may be wise to keep the soldiers in the Colony, but have been unwise to saddle the Colony with full parliamentary institutions before it was able to bear their weight. “If the soldiers be necessary, then the place was not ripe for parliamentary institutions.” That may be a very possible opinion as to the affairs of South Africa generally.

I am again driven to assert the difference between South Africa, and Canada, or Australia, or New Zealand. South Africa is a land peopled with coloured inhabitants. Those other places are lands peopled with white men. I will not again vex my reader with numbers,—not now at least. He will perhaps remember the numbers, and bethink himself of what has to be done before all those negroes can be assimilated and digested and made into efficient parliamentary voters, who shall have civilization, and the good of their country, and “God save the Queen” generally, at their hearts’ core. A mistake has perhaps been made;—but I do not think that because of that mistake the troops should be withdrawn from the Colony.

I cannot, however, understand why they should be kept at Capetown, to the safety of which they are no more necessary than they would be to that of Sydney or Melbourne. It is alleged that they can be moved more easily from Capetown, than they might be from any inland depot. But we know that if wanted at all they will be wanted on the frontier,—say within 50 miles of the Kei river which is the present boundary of the Colony. If the Kafirs east of the Kei can be kept quiet, there will be no rising of those to the west of the river. It was the knowledge that there were troops at King Williamstown, not that there were troops at Capetown, which operated so long on the minds of Kreli and other Transkeian Kafirs. And now that disturbance has come all the troops are sent to the frontier. If this be so, it would seem that British Kafraria is the place in which they should be located. But Capetown has been Head Quarters since the Colony was a Colony, and Head Quarters are never moved very easily. It is right that I should add that the Colony pays £10,000 a year to the mother country in aid of the cost of the troops. I need hardly say that that sum does not go far towards covering the total expense of two or more regiments on foreign service.

Another difficulty is apt to arise,—which I fear will now be found to be a difficulty in South Africa. If imperial troops be used in a Colony which enjoys parliamentary government, who is to be responsible for their employment? The Parliamentary Minister will expect that they shall be used as he may direct;—but so will not the authorities at home! In this way there can hardly fail to be difference of opinion between the Governor of the Colony and his responsible advisers.

King Williamstown is a thoroughly commercial little city with a pleasant club, with a railway to East London, and with smiling German cultivation all around it. But it has no trees. There is indeed a public garden in which the military band plays with great éclat, and in which horses can be ridden, and carriages with ladies be driven about,—so as to look almost like Hyde Park in June. I stayed three or four days at the place and was made very comfortable; but what struck me most was the excellence of the Kafir servant who waited upon me. A gentleman had kindly let me have the use of his house, and with his house the services of this treasure. The man was so gentle, so punctual, and so mindful of all things that I could not but think what an acquisition he would be to any fretful old gentleman in London.

When I was at King Williamstown I was invited to hold a conference with two or three Kafir Chiefs, especially with Sandilli, whose son I had seen at school, and who was the heir to Gaika, one of the great kings of the Kafirs, being the son of Gaika’s “great wife,” and brother to Makomo the Kafir who in the last war had done more than Kafir had ever done before to break the British power in South Africa. It was Makomo who had been Sir Harry Smith’s too powerful enemy,—and Sandilli, who is still living in the neighbourhood of King Williamstown, was Makomo’s younger but more royal brother. I expressed, of course, great satisfaction at the promised interview, but was warned that Sandilli might not improbably be too drunk to come.

On the morning appointed about twenty Kafirs came to me, clustering round the door of the house in which I was lodging,—but they declined to enter. I therefore held my levee out in the street. Sandilli was not there. The reason for his absence remained undivulged, but I was told that he had sent a troop of cousins in his place. The spokesman on the occasion was a chief named Siwani, who wore an old black coat, a flannel shirt, a pair of tweed trousers and a billycock hat,—comfortably and warmly dressed,—with a watch-key of ordinary appearance ingeniously inserted into his ear as an ornament. An interpreter was provided; and, out in the street, I carried on my colloquy with the dusky princes. Not one of them spoke but Siwani, and he expressed utter dissatisfaction with everything around him. The Kafirs, he said, would be much better off if the English would go away and leave them to their own customs. As for himself, though he had sent a great many of his clansmen to work on the railway,—where they got as he admitted good wages,—he had never himself received the allowance per head promised him. “Why not appeal to the magistrate?” I asked. He had done so frequently, he said, but the Magistrate always put him off, and then, personally, he was treated with very insufficient respect. This complaint was repeated again and again. I, of course, insisted on the comforts which the Europeans had brought to the Kafirs,—trousers for instance,—and I remarked that all the royal princes around me were excellently well clad. The raiment was no doubt of the Irish beggar kind but still admitted of being described as excellent when compared in the mind with red clay and a blanket. “Yes,—by compulsion,” he said. “We were told that we must come in and see you, and therefore we put on our trousers. Very uncomfortable they are, and we wish that you and the trousers and the magistrates, but above all the prisons, would go—away out of the country together.” He was very angry about the prisons, alleging that if the Kafirs did wrong the Kafir Chiefs would know how to punish them. None of his own children had ever gone to school,—nor did he approve of schools. In fact he was an unmitigated old savage, on whom my words of wisdom had no effect whatever, and who seemed to enjoy the opportunity of unburdening his resentment before a British traveller. It is probable that some one had given him to understand that I might possibly write a book when I returned home.