“We are a free and independent nation, Mr. Silva,” said Roosevelt, a hint of anger in his high-pitched voice. “Are you presuming to tell us how to run our internal affairs?”
“I am telling you that this action is totally unacceptable to the government of Belgium,” said Silva harshly.
“Then should Mr. Pickering ever confess to committing a murder within the borders of Belgium, I am sure that your government will deal with it in a manner that it more acceptable to you.” Roosevelt paused, as Boyes tried not to laugh aloud. “You had a second reason for coming to Stanleyville, I believe?”
Silva nodded. “Yes, I have, Mr. Roosevelt. I bring an offer from my government.”
“The same government that is furious with me for deporting Mr. Pickering?” said Roosevelt. “Well, by all means, let me hear it.”
“Your experiment has been a dismal failure, Mr. Roosevelt,” said Silva, taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in each word he uttered. “Your treasury is bankrupt, your railroads and highways will never be completed, your bridges and canals do not exist. You have failed to hold the national election that was promised to the international community. Even the small handful of men who accompanied you at the onset of this disastrous misadventure have deserted you.” Silva paused and smiled. “You must admit that you are in an unenviable position, Mr. Roosevelt.”
“Get to the point, Mr. Silva.”
“The government of Belgium is willing to put our differences behind us.”
“How considerate of them,” remarked Roosevelt dryly.
“If you will publicly request our assistance,” continued Silva, “we would be willing to once again assume the responsibility of governing the Congo.” He smiled again. “You really have no choice, Mr. Roosevelt. With every day that passes, the Congo retreats further and further into insolvency and barbarism.”
Roosevelt laughed harshly. “Your government has a truly remarkable sense of humor, Mr. Silva.”
“Are you rejecting our offer?”
“Of course I am,” said Roosevelt. “And you’re lucky I don’t pick you up by the scruff of the neck and throw you clear back to Brussels.”
“Need I point out that should my government decide that the Congo’s vital interests require our presence, you have no standing army that can prevent our doing what must be done?”
Roosevelt glanced at his wristwatch. “Mr. Silva,” he said, “I’m going to give you exactly sixty seconds to say good-bye and take your leave of us. If you’re still here at that time, I’m going to have Mr. Boyes escort you to the nearest form of transportation available and point you toward Belgium.”
“That is your final word?” demanded Silva, his face flushing beneath his deep tan.
“My final word is for King Albert,” said Roosevelt heatedly. “But since I am a Christian and a gentleman, I can’t utter it. Now get out of my sight.”
Silva glared at him, then turned on his heel and left.
Roosevelt turned to Boyes, who was still sitting in his chair, book in hand. “You heard?” he asked.
“Every word of it.” Boyes paused and smiled. “I wish he’d have stayed another forty seconds.” He got to his feet and approached Roosevelt. “What do you plan to do about the Belgians?”
“We certainly can’t allow them back into the country, that much is clear,” said Roosevelt.
“How do you propose to stop them?”
Roosevelt lowered his head in thought for a moment, then looked up. “There’s only one way, John.”
“Raise an army?”
Roosevelt smiled and shook his head. “What would we pay them with?” He paused. “Besides, we don’t want a war. We just want to make sure that the Congo is allowed to develop in its own way, free from all outside influences.”
“What do you plan to do?” asked Boyes.
“I’m going to return to America and run for the Presidency again,” announced Roosevelt. “Bill Taft is a fat fool, and I made a mistake by turning the country over to him. I’ll run on a platform of making the Congo a United States Protectorate. That ought to make the Belgians think twice before trying to march in here again!” He nodded his head vigorously. “That’s what I’ll have to do, if these people are ever to develop their own culture in their own way.” His eyes reflected his eagerness. “In fact, I’ll leave this afternoon! I’ll take Yank with me; I’m sure I can find a place for him in Washington.”
“You realize what will happen if you lose?” said Boyes. “The Belgians will march in here five minutes later.”
“Then there’s no time to waste, is there?” said Roosevelt. “You’re welcome to come along, John.”
Boyes shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. President, but there’s still a few shillings to be made here in Africa.” He paused. “I’ll stay in Stanleyville until you return, or until I hear that you’ve lost the election.”
“A little more optimism, John,” said Roosevelt with a grin. “The word ‘lose’ is not in our lexicon.”
Boyes stared at him for a long moment. “You mean it, don’t you?” he said at last, as the fact of it finally hit home. “You’re really going to run for the Presidency again.”
“Of course I mean it.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of challenges?” asked Boyes.
“Do you ever get tired of breathing?” replied Roosevelt, his face aglow as he considered the future and began enumerating the obstacles he faced. “First the election, then Protectorate status for the Congo, and then we’ll see just what direction its social evolution takes.” He paused. “This is a wonderful experiment we’re embarking upon, John.”
“It’ll be interesting,” commented Boyes.
“More than that,” said Roosevelt enthusiastically. “It’ll be bully — just bully!”
The date was April 17, 1912.
After returning home from the Congo, Theodore Roosevelt was denied the Republican nomination for President in 1912. Undaunted, he formed the Bull Moose party, ran as its presidential candidate, and was believed to be ahead in the polls when he was shot in the chest by a fanatic named John Chrank on October 14. Although he recovered from the wound, he was physically unable to campaign further and lost the election to Woodrow Wilson, though finishing well ahead of the seated Republican President, William Howard Taft. He lost what remained of his health in 1914 while exploring and mapping the River of Doubt (later renamed the Rio Teodoro) at the behest of the Brazilian government, and never returned to Africa. He died at his home in Sagamore Hill, New York, on January 6, 1919.
John Boyes made and lost three more fortunes in British East Africa, spent his final days driving a horse-drawn milk wagon in Nairobi, and died in 1951.
The Belgian Congo (later renamed Zaire) was granted its independence in 1960, and held the first and only free election in its history. This was followed by three years of the most savage inter-tribal bloodletting in the history of the continent.
1916:
The Bull Moose at Bay
This was written for the anthology Alternate Presidents, in which each author was told to reverse a presidential election, make one of the losers a winner, and see how his presidency would have fared. And since I was the editor, no one but me was going to write the story of Teddy Roosevelt’s 1912 presidency.
Roosevelt was always a populist and a progressive, far ahead of his time on certain issues — including the one in this story that stands a fair chance of costing him his bid for re-election. There’s one thing I know about Teddy — once he knew he was right he wouldn’t back off of a position one millimeter, even if it meant defeat.