Despite the imminent arrival of the long rains, Roosevelt’s entire party was still in the Congo, due mostly to the threats, pleadings, and promise of riches that Boyes had made when the ex-President was out of earshot.
They had made their way through a dense forest and were now camped by a winding, crocodile-infested river. A dozen of the men were out hunting for ivory, and Pickering was scouting about thirty miles to the west with a Mangbetu guide, seeking a location for their next campsite. Three more members of the party were visiting large Mangbetu villages, scheduling visits from the “King of America” and arranging for word to be passed to the leaders of the smaller villages, most of whom wanted to come and listen to him speak of the wonders he planned to bring to the Congo.
Roosevelt was sitting on a canvas chair in front of his tent, his binoculars hung around his neck and a sheaf of papers laid out on a table before him, editing what he had written that morning, when Yank Rogers, clad in his trademark stovepipe chaps and cowboy stetson, approached him.
“We got company, Teddy,” he announced in his gentle Texas drawl.
“Oh?”
Rogers nodded. “Belgians — and they look like they’re ready to declare war before lunch.”
“Mr. Pickering will be heartbroken when he finds out,” remarked Roosevelt wryly. He wiped some sweat from his face with a handkerchief. “Send them away, and tell them we’ll only speak to the man in charge.”
“In charge of what?” asked Rogers, puzzled.
“The Congo,” answered Roosevelt. “We’re going to have to meet him sooner or later. Why should we march all the way Stanleyville?”
“What if they insist?”
“How big is their party?” asked Roosevelt.
“One guy in a suit, six in uniforms,” said Rogers.
“Take twenty of our men with you, and make sure they’re all carrying their rifles. The Belgians won’t insist.”
“Right, Teddy.”
“Oh, and Yank?”
The American stopped. “Yes?”
“Tell Mr. Boyes not to remove their wallets before they leave.”
Rogers grinned. “That little bastard could find an angle on a baseball. You know he’s taking ten percent off the top on all the ivory our men shoot?”
“No, I didn’t know. Has anyone objected?”
“Not since he went up against Big Bill Buckley and gave him a whipping,” laughed Wallace. “I think he’s got notions of taking a percentage of every tusk that’s shipped out of the Congo from now til Doomsday.” He paused. “Well, I’d better round up a posse and go have a pow-wow with our visitors.”
“Do that,” said Roosevelt, spotting an insect that was crawling across his papers and flicking it to the ground. “And send Mr. Boyes over here. I think I’d better have a talk with him.”
“If you’re going fight him, I think I can get three to one on you,” said Rogers. “The rest of ‘em never saw you take out that machine gun nest single-handed at San Juan Hill; I did. Want me to put a little something down for you, Teddy?”
Roosevelt chuckled at the thought. “Maybe a pound or two, if it comes to that. Which,” he added seriously, “it won’t.”
Rogers went off to gather some of the men, and a few minutes later Boyes approached Roosevelt’s tent.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. President?” he asked.
“Yes, I did, John.”
“Is it anything to do with the Belgians? Yank Rogers said you were sending them away.”
“They’ll be back,” said Roosevelt, wiping his face once again and wondering if he’d ever experienced this much humidity anywhere in America. “Pull up a chair, John.”
Boyes did so, and sat down opposite Roosevelt.
“John, Yank tells me that you’ve got a healthy little business going on here.”
“You mean the ivory?” asked Boyes, making no attempt to conceal it.
Roosevelt nodded. “We’re not here to get rich, John. We’re here to turn the Congo into a democracy.”
“There’s no law against doing both,” said Boyes.
“I strongly disapprove of it, John. It’s profiteering.”
“I’m not making a single shilling off the natives, Mr. President,” protested Boyes. “How can that be profiteering?”
“You’re making it off our own people,” said Roosevelt. “That’s just as bad.”
“I was afraid you were going to look at it like that,” said Boyes with a sigh. “Look, Mr. President, we’re all for civilizing the Congo — but we’re grown men, and we’ve got to make a living. Now, for most of them, that means ivory hunting when we’re not busy befriending the natives. Believe me when I tell you that if you were to forbid it, eighty percent of the men would leave.”
“I believe you, John,” said Roosevelt. “And I haven’t stopped them from hunting ivory whenever they’ve had the time.”
“Well, I haven’t got any spare time, between running the camp and acting as your second-in-command,” continued Boyes, “so if I’m to make any money, it can’t be by spending long days in the bush, hunting for ivory. So unless you see fit to pay me a salary, this seems like the most reasonable way of earning some money. It doesn’t cost you anything, it doesn’t cost the natives anything, and every one of our men knew the conditions before they signed on.”
Roosevelt considered Boyes’ argument for a moment, then nodded his consent.
“All right, John. Far be it from me to stand in the way of a entrepreneur.” He paused for a moment. “But I want you to promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“You’ll let me know before you indulge in any other plans to get rich.”
“Oh, I’m never without plans, Mr. President,” Boyes assured him.
“Would you care to confide in me, then?”
“Why not?” replied Boyes with a shrug. “I’ve got nothing to hide.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Once you start putting your railroad through here, you’re going to need about ten thousand laborers. Now, I don’t know if you’re going to draft some workers from the local tribes, or hire a bunch of coolies from British East, or import all your labor from America — but I do know that ten thousand men eat a lot of food. I thought I’d set up a little trading company to deal with some of the tribes; you know, give them things they want in exchange for bags of flour and other edibles.” He paused. “It’ll be the same thing I did with the Kikuyu when they built the Lunatic Line, and I kept 25,000 coolies fed for the better part of two years.”
“I don’t want you fleecing the same people we’re trying to befriend,” said Roosevelt. “We’re here to liberate this country, not plunder it.”
“If they don’t like what I have to trade, they don’t have to part with their goods,” said Boyes. “And if they do like it, I’ll undersell any competitor by fifty percent, which will save your fledgling treasury a lot of money.”
Roosevelt stared at him for a long moment.
“Well?” said Boyes at last.
“John, if you can save us that much money without cheating the natives, get as rich as you like.”
Boyes smiled. “I don’t mind if I do, Mr. President.”
“You’re a remarkable man, John.”
Boyes shook his head. “I’m just a skinny little guy who had to learn to use his head to survive with all these brawny white hunters.”
“I understand you gave one of them quite a lesson in fisticuffs,” remarked Roosevelt.
“You mean Buckley? I had no choice in the matter,” answered Boyes. “If I’d let him get away with it, by next week they’d all be backing out on their bargain.” Suddenly he smiled again. “I gave him a bottle of gin and helped him finish it, and by the next morning we were good friends again.”