Had Mr Barnett alone suffered by this underhand attack, he would have felt it less; he was still a young man and might retrieve his own fortunes. But the thought of decent middle-class ladies, of poor and struggling clergymen ruined, not through their own fault, but because they had trusted too thoroughly in him, was more than he could bear. I have often heard him speak of those painful days, and he has never failed to point out that the same hands which wantonly destroyed the Haymarket Bank are responsible for the pestilent Little-Englandism which would (if it could) drag him down from the great place he holds to-day. The same spite that blasted the high promise of his ambitions in pure finance, would—had it the power—wither that climax of applied finance which is but another word for Imperial endeavour: but the M’Korio Delta and all it means is now beyond the power of such enemies.
For years Mr Barnett lay silent and obscure under the stigma of this failure. He visited Vienna, Constantinople, and Calcutta: he was concerned with the Anatolian Railway extension: it failed, and he again withdrew. Passing through Cairo he enjoyed the simple hospitality of the devout Harburys, and learnt from the morning, noontide, and evening prayers of that secluded household, a peace he had not yet known. He attached the younger Harbury to himself as secretary, and set out with a higher heart to retrieve his fortunes. He was instrumental in procuring a very necessary sum of money for the Vidame de Sorral: that nobleman, with the careless generosity of his rank, disbursed a considerable portion of his new found wealth upon a yacht, wherein, overcoming a senseless and unchristian repugnance, he took his benefactor for a short cruise upon the African coast.
It was in these circumstances that Mr I. Z. Barnett, these few short years since, first set eyes upon the land he was to render famous.
They were anchored off the western mouth of the M’Korio. The morning was intensely hot, without a breath of wind. The trees that marked the swampy edge of the Delta shimmered in a kind of mirage, and to the left, on the high land some three miles away, a few white dots marked the settlement and the governor’s house.
How often has not Mr Barnett told the story! His idle curiosity, the two days’ shooting which his host and he took in the marshes, the slight fever, the British flag at morning, and then suddenly, an inspiration wholly new, the vision of what this place was to be!
The yacht was welcome to sail without him—he was closeted day after day with officials and such travellers as were waiting for the English mail. He travelled: in a fashion he surveyed. He even obtained an interview with the governor, who, sceptical as he is, has recently confessed how impressed he was with the enthusiasm of this strange man, and has himself largely invested in the Company. Mr Barnett was convinced—he knew not how: it was a kind of faith—he was convinced of the presence of gold. He saw the banks dyked, the marshes drained, a province immensely fertile, teeming with wealth, standing at the door of the vast M’Korio valley, the very key of Africa: and all that for England!
He stayed as long as his health would permit, Harbury by his side, meeting the native chiefs, questioning old hunters, obtaining options, and using such legitimate influence as lay in his power with the local agent of Reuter. Almost bereft of capital, he yet secured some few concessions (for they were thought worthless)—he so disposed them that their sites commanded the best of the territory. Above all, he learnt that the paltry trade of the place, its reputation in the City, and in some sense its economic future, were in the hands of two men, two friends, a shipowner and an importer of hardware. He learnt that of all men they were most contemptuous towards the M’Korio. He learnt that the shipowner thought to know it more thoroughly than any other man, and was not to be persuaded of its great destiny: that the merchant, who had never visited it, had for years driven so weak a trade as to give him the smallest opinion of its chances: that they were both men old, hard in routine, and difficult. He learnt their names. The shipowner was a Mr Abbott; the name of Mr Abbott’s friend, the hardware merchant, was Burden.
He learnt that without them nothing could be done: this he learnt thoroughly: this of all the things most impressed him.
He returned to England, and for one year or two he perfected his plans.