There were several moments of complete silence in the courtroom. Then Judge Gregorowski cleared his throat.
“If the ladies would please absent themselves from the court…”
It was an ominous sign. The wives of the defendants, many of whom did not even speak nor understand Afrikaans, looked about themselves wonderingly, but the movement of the other women in starting to make their way toward the aisles and then toward the rear of the room made the meaning of the judge’s words evident. Some of the women began to cry; other women comforted them as best they could. The warders, dressed all in funereal black, offered aid to the more stricken, while still urging them in the direction of the large doors leading from the room. Fay, with a final squeeze of Barney’s hand and a brave smile for him, made her way from the room with the others. The men remained, silent, waiting.
Judge Gregorowski waited until the warders had closed the doors on the last of the women; then he turned to face the large group of defendants, now standing, who crowded the space before him.
“You men have pleaded guilty to the charge of distributing arms in an attempt to overthrow the Transvaal Republic. It is therefore the sentence of this court that you each be fined the sum of two thousand pounds, that furthermore you each be imprisoned for a period of two years at hard labor, and that following your imprisonment you be banished forever from the Republic of the Transvaal.”
The men stared at him blankly, unable at first to comprehend what to them seemed the enormity of the sentence for such a minor crime. Distributing arms, for heaven’s sake! Who didn’t have arms among the Boers? Children had their own guns when they were seven! Besides, all they had been trying to do had been to assure themselves of their rights as citizens, as any right-thinking Englishman would have done. Besides, what about the deal that had been made? Certainly Gregorowski had to know about it. Why wasn’t he taking that into consideration? The thing had only been a prank, basically, and now they were being sent to serve two years at hard labor, and then banished from their homes afterward, for life? It wasn’t fair! It certainly wasn’t just!
The judge bit back a cruel smile of satisfaction at the perturbation he could see on the faces before him, the sentence by now having been translated in whispers to those who had not understood; then Gregorowski straightened his lips. He reached beneath the bench and brought forth a small square of black silk. He placed it on his bald head and turned to consider the four men facing him white-faced in the makeshift dock; the movement caused the silk to slip on the smooth skin of the judge’s head and only a quick fumbling movement on his part retrieved the cloth and kept it from falling. At any other time the gesture might have appeared comical, but there was no sign of a smile on any face in the room at that moment. The judge spoke, his voice harsh.
“For the crime of high treason against the Transvaal Republic, it is the sentence of this court that you four men be taken to the place of execution and there be hanged by the neck until you are dead.” He drew a deep breath. “May Almighty God have mercy on your souls…”
President Paul Kruger looked up from the papers he was studying as his aide entered the room and cleared his throat hesitantly for attention. Had his aide been anyone except his wife’s nephew he would have been dismissed long since. Kruger sighed.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Mr. Barnato is here. He would like a few minutes of your time.”
“Oh?”
“He… he’s dressed all in black, in mourning, and he has crepe around his hat. I… I imagine it’s in regard to the trial.”
“I imagine it is,” Kruger said briskly, surprised at his aide’s perception. Maybe something could be done with the boy yet. “Where is he?”
The aide appeared a bit puzzled. “He didn’t come in, sir. He went back and sat down on the top step of the stoep—”
Kruger’s face did not change expression a bit. “Tell Mr. Barnato I will see him in here. He will understand. This is not a friendly visit. No, don’t tell him that last part!” he added with irritation as he saw the aide silently repeating his words after him. Maybe nothing could be done with the boy, after all. “Idiot!” he muttered as his aide left the room, and put aside the papers he had been working on.
Barney came into the room and stood, crepe-banded hat in hand, before the seated Kruger as the aide withdrew, closing the door softly behind him. It was evident from the aide’s words and looks that this was going to be quite different from the meetings he had had with Kruger in the past. Kruger considered him for several moments, his fleshy face almost granitelike, and then gestured a trifle formally toward a chair. Barney seated himself, placing his hat on the floor beside him. He recognized that Kruger was being distant to avoid making any concessions to him, but he also recognized that the situation was far too serious to be put off by minor dramatics.
“Mr. President—”
Kruger waved a hand abruptly, interrupting. “Mr. Barnato, I can imagine why you are here. I’m very busy, but in view of our past relationship, I have granted you a few minutes of my time. Let me save you time. The trial is over; the sentences passed. There is nothing I can do.”
“Mr. President, there are many things you can do!” Barney was leaning forward, his eyes fixed on Kruger’s unbending face, his voice urgent in its force. “You can commute the sentences, you can cancel them altogether. You can declare the trial a farce, which it was. Whoever heard of pleading guilty to a charge of treason? It’s the same as taking a gun to your head and pulling the trigger! Whoever heard of putting your defense aside and leaving it up to the court to give you whatever sentence it decides on? Don’t tell me there isn’t anything you can do!”
Kruger’s voice was cold. “Perhaps I mean there is nothing I wish to do. Nothing I intend to do. Tell me, Mr. Barnato,” Kruger went on, his voice remaining expressionless, “suppose this raid had succeeded? Suppose the people of Johannesburg, without reason but incited by these dangerous fools, suppose they had risen in revolt at the successful entrance of Jameson and his troopers into the city? Suppose the attack on the arsenal here in Pretoria had been successful — oh, yes, we were fully aware of the intention long before your Captain Jameson became impetuous and started ahead of his instructions — suppose, in brief, that the revolution had been a success? What would your Colonel Frank Rhodes, or your John Hays Hammond, or your Carl Luckner, or your Lionel Phillips — what would these gentlemen have done with old Oom Paul Kruger?” He made a gesture, one hand drawn across his throat.
“No, sir! They would never have harmed you! They are civilized men—”
Kruger laughed, a harsh laugh.
“Civilized men? Who? Your Captain Jameson, who made a peace pact with the Matabele and then went in with his troopers when Lobengula was unprepared and slaughtered his tribesmen and sent him to die in the bush? Who? Your Carl Luckner, who kicked your own father-in-law to death with his boots for nothing at all? We know of these things, Mr. Barnato; we know our enemies. These are civilized men who rode into our Transvaal Republic, a country at peace with the world, with hundreds of armed troopers with the intention of taking over our country, and of killing anyone in their way? Civilized men! They sent their wives just yesterday to plead with my wife to intercede with me for mercy. My wife, Sanne, said, ‘And if they had had their way, what would they have done to my husband?’ And they said nothing, Mr. Barnato; they had nothing to say. Women know, Mr. Barnato; they know. Ask your own wife, she’ll tell you.” He shook his head. “No, Mr. Barnato. If you let a lion live after he tries to kill you, will he appreciate it? In the Bible it says that Daniel aided a lion and the lion remembered, but Daniel was a prophet, and we are not prophets, Mr. Barnato. Daniel was a holy man, but we are not holy men, Mr. Barnato. No; if you let a lion live after he tries to kill you, he will simply think you are weak or that you are stupid and he will strike you down at the next opportunity. Although,” he added with contempt, “what we are talking about here are not lions, but jackals.”