“You’re in the wrong profession, John,” said Roosevelt. “You should have been a politician.”
“Not enough money in it,” answered Boyes bluntly. “But while we’re on the subject of politics, why did we run the Belgians off? Sooner or later we’re going to have to deal with them.”
“It’s simply a matter of practicality,” answered Roosevelt. “I think we gave them enough of an insult that the governor of the Congo will have to come here in person to prove that we can’t get away with such behavior — and the sooner we meet with him, the sooner we can present our demands.”
“What, exactly, do we plan to demand?”
“We’re going to demand their complete withdrawal from the Congo, and we’re going to stipulate that they must make a public statement in the world press that they no longer have any colonial ambitions in Africa.”
“You’re not asking for much, are you?” said Boyes sardonically.
“The Belgians have no use for it, and it costs them a fortune to administer it.” Roosevelt paused. “King Albert can go find another hunting reserve. We’ve got a nation to build here.”
Boyes laughed in amusement. “And you think they’re going to turn it over to a force of 53 men?”
“Certainly not,” said Roosevelt. “They’re going to turn it over to the natives who live here.”
Boyes stared intently at Roosevelt. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“That is what we’ve come here for, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but — ”
“We have a job to do, John, and time is the one irreplaceable commodity in this world. We can’t afford to waste it.”
“Are you sure you’re not being a little premature about this, Mr. President?” asked Boyes. “I thought we’d spend a year building a native army, and — ”
“We can’t win a war with the Belgians, John.”
“Then what kind of pressure can you bring to bear on them?” asked Boyes, puzzled.
“We can threaten to lose a war with them.”
Boyes frowned. “I don’t think I quite understand, sir.”
“You will, John,” said Roosevelt confidently. “You will.”
It took the Assistant Governor of the Congo exactly seven weeks to hear of Roosevelt’s summary dismissal of his district representative and to trek from Stanleyville to the American’s base camp, by which time the rains had come and gone, and the ex-President had enlisted not only the entire Mangbetu nation to his cause, but seven lesser tribes as well.
Word of the Belgians’ impending arrival reached camp a full week before they actually showed up — “God, I love those drums!” was Roosevelt’s only comment — and Yank Rogers and the Brittlebanks brothers were sent out to greet the party and escort them back to camp.
Roosevelt ordered Boyes to send five of their men out on a two-week hunting expedition. When the little Yorkshireman asked what they were supposed to be hunting for, Roosevelt replied that he didn’t much care, as long as they were totally out of communication for at least fourteen days. Boyes shrugged, scratched his head, and finally selected five of his companions at random and suggested they do a little ivory hunting far to the south for the two weeks. Since they had virtually shot out the immediate area, he received no objections.
When the Belgian party finally reached the camp, Roosevelt was waiting for them. He had had his men construct a huge table, some thirty feet long and five feet wide, and the moment they dismounted he invited them to join him and his men for lunch. The Assistant Governor, a tall, lean, ambitious man named Gerard Silva, seemed somewhat taken aback by the American’s hospitality, but allowed himself and his twenty armed soldiers to be escorted to the table, where a truly magnificent feast of warthog, bushbuck, and guinea fowl awaited them.
Roosevelt’s men, such as could fit on one side of the table, sat facing the west, and the Belgian soldiers were seated opposite them. The American sat at the head of the table, and Silva sat at the foot of it, thirty feet away. Under such an arrangement, private discussions between the two leaders was impossible, and Roosevelt encouraged his men to discuss their hunting and exploring adventures, though not more than half a dozen of the Belgian soldiers could speak or understand English.
Finally, after almost two hours, the meal was concluded, and Roosevelt’s men — except for Boyes — left the table one by one. Silva nodded to a young lieutenant, and the Belgian soldiers followed suit, clustering awkwardly around their horses. Then Silva stood up, walked down to Roosevelt’s end of the table, and seated himself next to the American.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal, Mr. Silva,” said Roosevelt, sipping a cup of tea.
“It was quite excellent, Mr…?” Silva paused. “What would you prefer that I call you?”
“Colonel Roosevelt, Mr. Roosevelt, or Mr. President, as you prefer,” said Roosevelt expansively.
“It was an excellent meal, Mr. Roosevelt,” said Silva in precise, heavily-accented English. He withdrew a cigar and offered one to Roosevelt, who refused it. “A wise decision,” he said. “The tobacco we grow here is decidedly inferior.”
“You must be anxious to return to Belgium, then,” suggested Roosevelt.
“As you must be anxious to return to America,” responded Silva.
“Actually, I like it here,” said Roosevelt. “But then, I don’t smoke.”
“A nasty habit,” admitted Silva. “But then, so is trespassing.”
“Am I trespassing?” asked Roosevelt innocently.
“Do not be coy with me, Mr. Roosevelt,” said Silva. “It is most unbecoming. You have brought a force of men into Belgian territory for reasons that have not been made clear to us. You have no hunting permit, no visa, no permission to be here at all.”
“Are you telling us to leave?”
“I am simply trying to discover your purpose here,” said Silva. “If you have come solely for sport, I will personally present you with papers that will allow you to go anywhere you wish within the Congo. If you have come for some other reason, I demand to know what it is.”
“I would rather discuss that with the governor himself,” responded Roosevelt.
“He is quite ill with malaria, and may not be able to leave Stanleyville for another month.”
Roosevelt considered the statement for a moment, then shook his head. “No, we’ve wasted enough time already. I suppose you’ll simply have to take my message to him.” He paused. “I suppose it doesn’t make much difference. The only thing he’ll do is transmit my message to King Albert.”
“And what is the gist of your message, Mr. Roosevelt?” asked Silva, leaning forward intently.
“My men and I don’t consider ourselves to be in Belgian territory.”
Silva smiled humorlessly. “Perhaps you would like me to pinpoint your position on a map. You are indeed within the legal boundaries of the Belgian Congo.”
“We know where we are, and we fully agree that we are inside the border of the Congo,” answered Roosevelt. “But we don’t recognize your authority here.”
“Here? You mean right where we are sitting?”
“I mean anywhere in the Congo.”
“The Congo is Belgian territory, Mr. Roosevelt.”
Roosevelt shook his head. “The Congo belongs to its inhabitants. It’s time they began determining their own future.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” said Silva. “It has been acknowledged by all the great powers that the Congo is our colony.”
“All but one,” said Roosevelt.
“America acknowledges our right to the Congo.”