CHAPTER VI.

SIR GARNET WOLSELEY.

WHAT HE CAME FOR, WHAT HE DID, AND WHAT HE DID NOT DO.

England, however, was beginning to feel that her South African possessions were in an unsettled condition, although in point of fact they were quiet enough until she meddled with them in the blundering well-meaning fashion in which she has handled them ever since. It was patent, indeed, that some interference was required, when innocent tribes were liable to such cruel injustice as that inflicted upon the Ama-Hlubi and Amangwe in 1873, and, if her interference was honestly intended on their behalf, she has at least the credit of the “well-meaning” attributed to her above. Whatever her intentions may have been, however, the result has been a progress from bad to worse, culminating at last in the late unhappy Zulu War.

It is believed by many that England possesses but one man upon whom she can place any reliance in times of difficulty and danger, and accordingly Natal shortly received notice that Sir Garnet Wolseley was coming to “settle her affairs;” and the Natalians, with feelings varying from humble and delighted respect to bitter and suspicious contempt, prepared themselves to be set straight—or not—according to their different sentiments.

The great man and his “brilliant staff,” as it was soon popularly called by the colonists—not without a touch of humour—arrived in Natal upon the last day of March, 1875, and on the 1st of April he took the oaths as Administrator of the Government at Pietermaritzburg.

He immediately commenced a series of entertainments, calculated by their unusual number and brilliancy to dazzle the eyes of young Natalian damsels. These latter, accustomed as they were to very occasional and comparatively quiet festivities, and balls at which a few of the subalterns of the small garrison at Fort Napier were their most valued partners, found themselves in a new world of a most fascinating description, all ablaze with gold and scarlet, V.C.’s, C.B.’s, titles, and clever authors. And, what was more, all these striking personages paid them the most gracious attentions—attentions which varied according to the importance of the young ladies’ male relatives to the political scheme afoot. Meanwhile dinner after dinner was given to the said relatives; Sir Garnet Wolseley entertained the whole world, great and small, and the different members of his staff had each his separate duty to perform—his list of people to be “fascinated” in one way or another. For a short time, perhaps, the popularity desired was achieved in consequence of their united and persevering efforts, although from the very first there were voices to be heard casting suspicion upon those who were “drowning the conscience of the colony in sherry and champagne;” and there were others, more far-sighted still, who grimly pointed out to the gratified and flattered recipients of this “princely hospitality” the very reasonable consideration: “You will have to pay for the sherry and champagne yourselves in the end.”

Undoubtedly the conviction that the colony would pay dear for its unwonted gaiety—that it was being “humbugged” and befooled—soon stole upon the people. While the daughters enjoyed their balls, their fathers had to buy their ball-dresses; and while the legislative councillors and all their families were perpetually and graciously entertained at Government House, the question began to arise: “What is the object of it all?”

All unusual treatment calls forth special scrutiny, and it is to be doubted whether Sir Garnet’s lavish hospitality and (almost) universally dropped honey, with all the painful labours of his brilliant staff combined, did more than awaken the suspicions which a course of proceedings involving less effort would have failed to evoke. Even the most ignorant of Dutch councillors would be wise enough to know that when a magnate of the land treated him and his family as bosom friends and equals of his own, the said magnate must want to “get something out of him”—even the most untaught and ingenuous of colonial maidens would soon rate at their true value the pretty speeches of the “men of note,” who would have had them believe that, after frequenting all the gayest and most fashionable scenes of the great world, they had come to Natal and found their true ideal upon its distant shores.

A vast amount of trouble and of energy was thrown away by all concerned, while the few whose eyes were open from the first stood by and watched to see what would come of it. The question remains unanswered to this day. That the annexation of the Transvaal by Sir Garnet Wolseley did _not_ come of it, is to that discreet general’s great credit. And had his decision—that the work which he was specially sent out to do[42] was one for which the country was not ripe, and would not be for many years—been accepted and acted upon by England, the expense of his six months’ progress through Natal would have been well worth incurring indeed, for in that case there would have been no Zulu War. But this, unfortunately for all parties, was not the case.

The popular answer in Natal to the question, “What did Sir Garnet Wolseley do for you?” is, “He got us up an hour earlier in the morning;” an excellent thing truly, but a costly hour, the history of which is as follows: For many years the city of Pietermaritzburg, known as “Sleepy Hollow” to its rivals of another and, in its own opinion, a busier town, had set all its clocks and watches, and regulated all its business hours by the sound of a gun, fired daily from Fort Napier at nine o’clock A.M., the signal for which came from the town itself. The gun was frequently credited with being too fast or slow by a few seconds or even minutes, and on one occasion was known to have been wrong by half-an-hour; a mistake which was remedied in the most original fashion, by setting the gun back a minute and a half daily till it should have returned to the proper time; to the utter confusion of all the chronometers in the neighbourhood. But, right or wrong, the nine-o’clock gun was the regulator of city time, including that of all country places within reach of its report. The natives understood it, and “gun-fire” was their universal hour of call; the shops were opened at its sound, and but little business done before it. But during Sir Garnet Wolseley’s reign in Natal it occurred, not without reason, to the member of his staff whom he placed in temporary authority over the postal and other arrangements of the colony, that nine o’clock was too late for a struggling community to begin its day, and he therefore altered the original hour of gun-fire to that of eight A.M. How far the alteration really changed the habits of the people it is hard to say, or how many of them may now let the eight-o’clock gun wake them instead of sending them to work, but the change remains an actual public proof of the fact that in 1875 Sir Garnet Wolseley visited Natal.

A more important measure was the bill which he carried through the Legislative Assembly for the introduction of eight nominee members to be chosen by the Government, thereby throwing the balance of power into the hands of the executive, unless, indeed, nominee members should be chosen independent enough to take their own course. Whether this measure was looked upon as very important by those who proposed it, or whether the energy displayed was for the purpose of convincing the public mind that such really was Sir Garnet’s great object in Natal, it is not so easy to decide. But looking back through the events of the last few years one is strongly tempted to suspect that the whole visit to Natal, and all the display made there, was nothing but a pretence, a blind to hide our designs upon the Transvaal, for which Sir Garnet wisely considered that the country was not ripe.

But if in this instance we are bound to admire Sir Garnet Wolseley’s good sense, we must, on the other hand, greatly deprecate his behaviour towards the two unfortunate tribes whose sorrows have been recorded, and towards those who took an interest in their welfare and just treatment—more especially towards the Bishop of Natal.[43]

From the very first Sir Garnet’s tone upon native matters, and towards the Bishop, were entirely opposed to that used by Lord Carnarvon. Every attempt made by the Bishop to place matters upon a friendly footing, which would enable the new Governor to take advantage of his thorough acquaintance with the natives, was checked; nor through the whole of his governorship did he ever invite the Bishop’s confidence or meet him in the spirit in which he was himself prepared to act; a course of proceeding most unfortunately imitated by some of his successors, especially Sir Bartle Frere, who only “invited criticism of his policy”—and received it—when too late to be of any avail except to expose its fallacies.

It is impossible to rise from a perusal of the despatches written by Sir Garnet after his arrival in Natal, in answer or with reference to matters in which the Bishop was concerned, without coming to the conclusion that from the very beginning his mind was prejudiced against the Bishop’s course, and that he had no sympathy with him or the people in whom he was interested. Far from attempting to carry out Lord Carnarvon’s instructions in the spirit in which they were undoubtedly given, he set aside some, and gave an interpretation of his own to others, which considerably altered their effect; while his two despatches, dated May 12th and 17th, show plainly enough the bias of his mind.

The first is on the subject of the return of Langalibalele, which the Bishop had recommended, offering to receive him upon his own land at Bishopstowe, and to make himself responsible, within reasonable limits, for the chief’s good behaviour. Sir Garnet “would deprecate in the strongest terms” such return. “Langalibalele,” he says, “as I am informed by all classes here, official and non-official (a very small knot of men of extreme views excepted), is regarded by the native population at large as a chief who, having defied the authorities, and in doing so occasioned the murder of some white men, is now suffering for that conduct.” While thus avoiding the direct responsibility of sitting “in judgment upon past events,” by _quoting_ from “all classes here,” he practically confirms their opinion by speaking of those who differ from them as “a very small knot of men of extreme views;” and he further commits himself to the very unsoldierlike expression of “murder” as applied to the death of the five men at the Bushman’s River Pass, by speaking in the same paragraph of the punishment of the chief as “a serious warning to all other Kafir chiefs ... to avoid imitating his example.” Without mentioning the Bishop by name, he makes repeated allusions to him in a tone calculated to give an utterly false impression of his action and character. “To secure these objects” (the future safety of the colony and the true interests of white and black) “it is essential that a good feeling should exist between the two races; and I am bound to say that in my opinion those who, by the line of conduct they adopt, keep alive the recollection of past events,”[44] etc. etc. “I have no wish to attribute to those who adopt this policy any interested motives. I am sure that they are actuated by feelings of high philanthropy,” (? simple justice and honesty), “and nothing is farther from my mind than a wish to cast any slur upon them. Yet I must say that from the manner in which they refuse to believe all evidence that does not coincide with their own peculiar views, and from the fact of their regarding the condition of affairs in Natal from one standpoint alone, I am forced to consider them impractical (_sic_), and not to be relied on as advisers by those who are responsible for the good government of all classes.” In the following paragraphs he speaks of “sensational narratives oftentimes based upon unsifted evidence,” “highly-coloured accounts,” and “one-sided, highly-coloured, and, in some instances, incorrect statements that have been made public in a sensational manner,” all which could refer to the Bishop alone. If by regarding the condition of affairs in Natal from one standpoint alone, Sir Garnet Wolseley means the standpoint of British honour and justice, and looks upon those who hold it as “impractical,” there is little more to say. But Sir Garnet can never have given his attention to the Bishop’s printed pamphlets, and could therefore have no right to an opinion as to his reception or treatment of evidence, or he would not venture to use the expressions just quoted of one who had never made an assertion without the most careful and patient sifting of the grounds for it, whose only object was to establish the truth, _whatever that might be_, and who was only too glad whenever his investigations threw discredit upon a tale of wrong or oppression. That principles of strict honour and justice should in these our days be characterised as “peculiar views,” is neither to the credit of the English nation nor of its “only man.”

In the second despatch mentioned Sir Garnet makes the following singular remark: “In the meantime I take the liberty of informing your lordship that the words ‘the Amahlubi may, if they choose, when that is prepared which is to be prepared, go to him,’ are interpreted, by those who have taken an active part in favour of the tribe, as binding the Government to convey all members of the Amahlubi tribe who may wish to join Langalibalele, to whatever place may be finally selected for his location. I do not conceive that any such meaning is intended, and should not recommend that such an interpretation should be recognised. I think, however, it may fairly be matter for consideration whether Langalibalele’s wives and children, who have lost all their property,[45] might not be assisted with passages by sea to join Langalibalele.”[46]

It is difficult to imagine what other interpretation can be placed on the words of the proclamation, or how, after it had once been delivered, any narrower measures could be fairly considered, or require further “instructions.”

In subsequent letters Sir Garnet scouts altogether representations made by the Bishop of the destitute condition of members of the Hlubi tribe, replying to Lord Carnarvon on the subject by enclosing letters from various magistrates in different parts of the country denying that destitution existed; saying that the people were “in sufficiently good circumstances;” and most of them suggesting that, should anything like starvation ensue, the people have only to hire themselves out as labourers to the white people. The Bishop would certainly never have made representations unsupported by facts; but in any case it is a question whether we had not some further duties towards a large number of innocent people whom we had stripped of all their possessions, and whose homes and crops we had destroyed, than that of allowing them to labour for us at a low rate of wages; or whether the mere fact of its being thus possible for all to keep body and soul together relieved us of the responsibility of having robbed and stripped them.

These facts in themselves prove how different from Lord Carnarvon’s feelings and intentions were those of his subordinate, and how real Sir Garnet’s antagonism. It is not therefore surprising that the commands of the former were not, and have never been, carried out.