“Mr. President,” Barney said, fighting down the feeling that he was wasting his time with the arguments he was using, “believe me when I tell you I know these people. It would have been a bloodless — a bloodless—”
Kruger smiled humorlessly at the other man’s hesitation.
“A bloodless what, Mr. Barnato? A bloodless revolution? Other than hanging poor old Oom Paul Kruger, and who would worry about that except old Kruger himself, and maybe his family? A bloodless revolution, Mr. Barnato? Was there ever such a thing?” He leaned forward a bit, his jaw hard. “Let me tell you something! They killed twelve of our people, and for that they should all be hanged, not just those four! True, they lost more than that themselves, many more, but they killed twelve innocent Boers — twelve innocent men and boys! Killed! Men and boys who only wanted to be left alone to tend their farms and their flocks and their herds!” Kruger leaned back, his face rigid. “You know these people, you say? I never met them, but I know them better!”
Barney took a deep breath and changed his tactics. “Mr. President, look what you have gained from this affair—”
“Gained?” The bushy eyebrows went up. “Gained what? Twelve dead men and boys? Boer mothers who look to me to protect their husbands and sons, and now come to me crying?”
Barney looked Kruger in the eye. “Cecil Rhodes has resigned as Premier of the Cape because of this fiasco. I know how you feel about Rhodes as well as I know how he has always felt about you. You and he have been enemies for years. He’s a sick man and now, beyond that, he’s finished politically because of this raid. Surely that’s a gain for you. You can afford to be merciful.”
Kruger considered him almost sadly as he slowly shook his head.
“Mr. Barnato, you are a businessman, not a politician or a soldier. Stay with your businesses and leave politics and soldiering to others. The resignation of Cecil Rhodes will not help the Transvaal a bit. Eventually, probably — almost assuredly — it will mean further tension between the Boers and the British. It may in time, in a very short time, lead to war. Rhodes may have resigned because he had no choice after encouraging, even organizing, an attack on a friendly neighbor, but he will never give up his ambitions as long as he breathes. Nor, unfortunately, will England. We are a small people and Britain is a very large empire. The failure of Jameson’s raid will not end anything; most probably it will only begin something.”
He looked at Barney a moment, his forehead wrinkling as he asked the question.
“Tell me something, Mr. Barnato. What is your interest in this? I know you opposed the Reform Committee. I know you were opposed to any action against my government. What is your interest in saving these lives? In saving men like Carl Luckner, for example?”
“Carl Luckner is just a name, one man; he means nothing,” Barney said evenly, “but lives and living mean a great deal. I originally brought John Hays Hammond to this country. I will not see him hanged. Frank Rhodes has many faults, but he is a soldier and he thought he was doing his duty to his country. I cannot see him hanged. Solly Loeb is my nephew, my sister’s son. I will not see him in prison for two years. You are speaking of hanging four men. You are speaking of taking another sixty men and putting them in one of your prisons for two years at hard labor. Some of these men are not strong enough to stand two years in one of your prisons, Mr. President. For them the sentence is also a death sentence. I cannot stand by and see this happen.”
“They should have considered all that when they planned their revolt,” Kruger said coldly. “Our prisons are not meant to be holiday reports; they are meant to punish. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, says the Bible.” He came to his feet, indicating the interview was over. “I believe in the Bible, Mr. Barnato. I believe in the law. So I can only repeat what I said before. There is nothing I can do.”
Barney came to his feet as well. “I do not accept that statement, Mr. President,” he said, now fighting down his anger. “You have the power to commute those insane sentences, and we both know it. Well, I have power, too. If you do not commute those sentences within the next two weeks — and I mean no hangings, no prison with or without hard labor, no banishment, but any reasonable fine you wish — I will shut down every property I own or control in the entire Transvaal! I will put out of work over twenty thousand white men and over one hundred thousand Kaffirs! Your economy will lose the fifty thousand pounds my companies spend in your republic every week; you will lose the taxes I pay that keep your republic running! D’you want to ruin your precious republic just for the satisfaction of getting revenge on a bunch of fools?”
Kruger’s usually ruddy face whitened. “Mr. Barnato, sir, are you threatening me?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. I’m threatening the existence of the entire Transvaal and its economy. I’m threatening what you have worked for all your life. And it’s a threat I can carry out. If you doubt me, read the newspapers tomorrow morning!”
He snatched up his hat and stormed from the room, not taking the time for the usual amenities with the President of the Republic. Kruger stared after him, trying his best not to let the anger that swept him either voice itself or affect his judgment. He was, after all, the President of a country, and he should be above anger. But it was difficult, for he knew Barney Barnato well enough to realize the man’s threat had not been an idle one. And without the revenues from the Barnato properties, the Transvaal would, indeed, suffer. He sighed. It was a decision that would have to be taken to the Executive Committee, although he knew in the long run the decision would have to be his. What would Abraham have done? What would Isaac have done…?
Barney Barnato, followed by all the newspaper reporters in Johannesburg that he had been able to contact, began putting up the notices of the closing of the mines and his other properties himself that very night. One of the reporters, John Ryan of the Rand Daily Mail and an old acquaintance, paused in his scribbling to trot alongside Barney as Barney climbed into his trap and prepared to move on to his next objective. Ryan put his hand on the horse’s bridle, preventing it from moving, and dropped his voice, not wishing to share any information he might be able to garner.
“Come on, Barney! Be a pal. What’s this promotion really all about?”