At Groote Schuur, the beautiful home of the Premier of the Cape Colony, set down and back from the road behind Table Mountain, Barney Barnato was waiting for Cecil John Rhodes, the Premier, to appear for the meeting that had been requested and confirmed by telegraph. The rumors that were beginning to become more and more overtly discussed in Johannesburg regarding the possibility of some direct action by the Reform Committee against the Boer authorities had brought Barney to forsake all other duties and hurry to Cape Town to try to do his best to avert what he was sure could only result in disaster for all concerned. As he waited, looking out at the flowering gardens of the sprawling house, with the rear of Table Mountain rising sharply across the distant road, he wondered how much Cecil Rhodes was involved with the Reform Committee and their prospective action, or whether it was merely another rumor that Rhodes was behind the entire scheme. It was certainly in Rhodes’ interest to try to add the Transvaal to the growing British Empire. Still, it could do no harm to talk to the man; they certainly knew each other well enough by this time. Barney wondered if things might have been different had he taken up Mr. Breedon’s suggestion and run for the Kimberley seat in the Assembly, but he was sure it would have made little difference.
His thoughts were interrupted as the door opened and Rhodes came into the room. Rhodes had aged greatly since he had become Premier, it seemed to Barney; his disappointments in the mineral wealth — or, rather, lack of it — in Rhodesia, together with the responsibilities of running the affairs of the large Cape Colony, seemed to have weighed on Rhodes to an unusual degree. His big body, always tending to slouch, was now bent more than ever, his complexion was pasty as if it missed the sun of Kimberley, and he looked unwell, as if the illnesses of his youth had returned multiplied by the intervening years. Yet, as Barney knew, the man was only forty-two years of age, a year younger than Barney himself.
Rhodes merely brushed Barney’s outstretched hand and sank into an upholstered chair, looking at Barney broodingly, as if the meeting were taking his time from things more important.
“Well, Barney, you said your mission was urgent. Has it anything to do with the mines or their output?”
Barney disregarded the question entirely. He sat down in a chair across from Rhodes. “You know there’s trouble in Johannesburg, Cecil,” he said without attempting to beat about the bush. “There has been for years, but it’s coming to a head. The Reformists are looking for a fight, and if they’re not careful they’ll get one. And it may well be one they won’t like. I don’t know how much you’ve kept up to date on the activities of the Reform Committee—”
“Johannesburg is in the Transvaal,” Rhodes said with a faint smile, interrupting. “This is the Cape Colony. This is where I’m Premier.”
“—or what your involvement with it might be,” Barney went on, quite as if Rhodes had not spoken, “but if you have any influence with its members, I think there are a few things you ought to consider. As you know, I met with Kruger almost two years ago—”
“When you got him to agree to the railway,” Rhodes said. “That was well done,” he added almost grudgingly. “But that’s ancient history.”
Barney shook his head. “Look, Cecil, I’m a lot closer to the thing than you are, stuck down here in the Cape and getting your information — or often misinformation — by telegraph. I tell you the Reform Committee is going about this thing the wrong way. The way to work on Kruger is certainly not to antagonize him. He came around on the railway thing; he’ll come around on other things as well.”
“He hasn’t come around on the franchise,” Rhodes said, a stubborn set to his thin lips, “and as I understand it, that’s the main complaint of the Reform Committee.”
Barney snorted. “If Kruger gave the Uitlanders the vote right now, he’d be crazy, and one thing Paul Kruger is not is crazy! Johannesburg is almost as advanced as Kimberley, now. We’ve got streetlights, they’re working on a sewage system, it’s already bigger than Kimberley. He has given in on things; give him time and he’ll give in on more. What I’m trying to say is that this is no time for the Reform Committee to do anything foolish.”
“I see. Well, let me think it over. As I said before,” Rhodes said, “the Transvaal is out of my province. I have enough on my hands with the Cape. However, I do know some members of the Reform Committee, and I suppose it would do no harm to discuss this matter with them—”
He paused as the door to the room opened and his brother Frank poked his head in. The colonel frowned to see Barney Barnato sitting there. Cecil Rhodes turned back to Barney.
“Is there anything else you wished to discuss, Barney? I don’t wish to be rude, but I have a rather full schedule, and I would like to spend a little time with my brother—”
Barney stood up. “No, I think I’ve said what I came to say, Cecil. I just hope you fully understood what I was trying to say. Nobody really gains from trouble,” he added, as much for Colonel Frank Rhodes’ sake as for the Premier’s. “It can only cost money. Your money and my money.” He nodded and walked through the door that Frank Rhodes had been holding open for him; the door closed behind him. Neville Pickering was sitting at a desk beyond the door; he nodded stiffly. A butler was waiting to escort Barney to his rented carriage in the drive that would take him back to the railway station.
As he climbed in and gave the necessary directions, he wondered why he had taken the trouble to come to Cape Town. It was evident that whatever was being planned was well along its way. Certainly all his arguing in the Rand Club in Johannesburg had only led to losing him friends, as well as cutting him off from any information as to what was being planned. Even Solly, whom he had treated as well as a brother, hedged when asked about the Reform Committee, although it was evident the man was deeply involved. It was also evident that Cecil Rhodes not only had a finger in the pie, but undoubtedly was up to his elbows in it. “The Transvaal, of course, is not in my province, but I do know some members of the Reform Committee… ”What drek!
Well, maybe it was all talk. Most of the members of the Reform Committee, including his nephew Solly, tended more to talk than to action. At least it was something “devoutly to be wish’d for,” he thought with a faint smile, recalling his Hamlet. He had his own problems with the deepening of the mine shafts in Johannesburg; he’d stop and pick up Armando in Kimberley, borrowing his talents for a while.
He leaned back and watched the scenery.
In the room Barney had just left, Colonel Frank Rhodes was staring down at his seated brother, a frown on his face. “What was Barnato doing here?”
Rhodes laughed. “Apparently our Reform Committee is not as circumspect as it, or they, should be. Barnato seems to sense that there is trouble brewing; his Jew nose is twitching. Two years ago he got Kruger to agree to the extension of the railway to Johannesburg and Pretoria, so now he thinks he knows the old man. It’s his idea that Kruger will bend and, if we wait long enough, maybe break, for all I know. At which point the Reform Committee would have nothing to do but pick up the pieces.” He waved away the matter of Barnato and his dreams with a flick of the wrist. “Don’t pay any attention to Barnato and his hallucinations. He has no idea of what’s really going on. What brings you here, Frank?”
Frank Rhodes seated himself in the chair Barney had been occupying.
“I hate to say it, Cecil, but in one respect I agree with Barnato.”
Rhodes frowned. “I beg your pardon? You think Paul Kruger is going to fold? Give us what we want without a fight?”