Rough Diamond, page 34
“What!” Barney was shocked. “You’re insane! And so are your so-called lawyers! They had you plead guilty? Guilty? To a charge of treason? Whatever made them, or you, think Kruger would free you, especially after an idiot plea like that?”
Solly looked at him almost with condescension. “Look, Barney. I know you’re on speaking terms with old Kruger, but that doesn’t make you an expert on everything he says or does. Our lawyers know the old man, too, and what’s more important, they know the prosecuting attorney as well. Be reasonable! What would it gain old man Kruger to make us sit in this stinking hole for a few extra weeks or even months? We wouldn’t be making money, and that means we wouldn’t be paying his taxes, or bribing his officials, or all the hundreds of other things we do every day that keeps the economy of his precious Transvaal from falling to pieces. Half the mines on the Rand have shut down during all this brouhaha. D’you think old man Kruger hasn’t felt the effect of that when he pats his pants pockets? Of course he has! The old man isn’t totally insane, you know.”
“No, but you and your so-called lawyers are! Let me get you proper counsel—”
“No!” Solly’s face got ugly. “Barney, I suppose you mean well, but we’re quite satisfied with the counsel we have now. They were selected by Lionel Phillips, and he knows his way around the corner as well as you do. This is no time to be rocking the boat. Our lawyers have made a deal.” He dropped his voice although there was nobody near who might have overheard. “We plead guilty and we get off with a fine and a slap on the wrist. That’s the deal. Don’t interfere.”
Barney considered Solly for long seconds. He looked around the barren prison yard, seeing the men there, some playing cards, some laughing over some incident. Fools! he thought, and looked back at his nephew. “If that’s the way you want it. Is there anything I can get you?”
“Not a thing.”
“Well … In that case, I’ll be going. Is there anything you’re involved in at the office that needs handling?”
“No, my boys have everything under control.” Solly smiled. “I get regular reports, even in here.”
“The Pretoria branch of the Rand Club, eh? Well, in that case …” Barney nodded his head rather abruptly and walked from the yard where he and Solly had been talking, his prison pass pressed tightly between his fingers. How like Solly to believe anything a man like Lionel Phillips said, or the lawyers that Phillips had selected! How could a nephew of his, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, be that damnably stupid? What a pity Solly had been born a Jew! Solly would probably have given everything he possessed to be able to sew that foreskin back in place and take his rightful position among the elite of Johannesburg and the Rand Club, among the machers, the big people, the respectable Christians! He must get down on his knees every night and thank God he wasn’t born with a big hooked nose, or tight, curly hair! Still, the boy was his sister’s son, and he had to do everything possible to save him from his own foolishness. But what could be done in face of such stubbornness?
Behind him as he left the yard, Solly watched his uncle’s back with a look of disdain on his handsome face. Barney Barnato offering him advice! What a joke! If Barney knew one half of what went on in Jo’burg, even as far as his own businesses were concerned, he’d be a lot wiser man than he was. A lot unhappier, too. But the fact was that Barney Barnato was not half as bright as he thought he was, or Solly Loeb would not have been able to feather his own nest so comfortably. And Barney didn’t even have a suspicion! And now he wanted to interfere in something he understood even less than he did business. With a sneer Solly put Barney and Barney’s worries from his mind and started back toward his cell. There was a bottle of bubbly there, as well as half of the roast duckling his wife had brought—if the rats hadn’t eaten it while he was wasting his time with his uncle Barney …
Judge Gregorowski had been called in from Bloemfontein in the Free State to preside at the trial of the sixty members of the Reform Committee, as well as the four men considered the ringleaders in planning and executing the raid: Colonel Frank Rhodes, John Hays Hammond, Carl Luckner, and Lionel Phillips. The trial was scheduled to be held at the Pretoria Town Hall, since the courthouse was considered too small for the large number of defendants and the crowd that was expected to attend. Barney, sitting in the first row of spectators with Fay at his side, gritted his teeth to see the defendants, on benches before him, with Solly among them, laughing and joking among themselves, chatting away quite as if they were merely passing time waiting for the next race at the racecourse, rather than facing trial on a most serious charge.
“Idiots!” he muttered angrily. “Suicidal idiots!”
Fay reached over and took his hand, squeezing it. “Relax, darling.”
“Relax! How can I relax? Can you imagine pleading guilty on a charge of treason. Treason? They’re insane! No proper court in the world would even permit such a plea!”
There was the bang of a gavel, a momentary hushing of the large crowd, and Judge Gregorowski entered and took his place on the bench. The four ringleaders, standing in the movable dock that had been put in place by the black-uniformed warders, turned to face him; the other defendants lounged to their feet as if bored by the entire proceedings. Gregorowski was a large heavy-set man without a hair on his head, and with a huge hooked nose and small beady eyes that looked at the crowd as if suspecting that they, too, probably should have been in the dock as well as the four. After a brief inspection of his audience, he motioned to the prosecuting attorney to begin the proceedings. The prosecutor came to his feet and began reading from a paper, droning the names of the defendants one by one. When he had finished this portion of the indictment, he came to the charge. The crowd fell silent. He spoke in Afrikaans, which most of the defendants could not understand.
“These men,” he said, his tone almost contemptuous, “combined to plan the overthrow of the Government of the Republic of the Transvaal. They freely admit they planned the deed; I have no doubt they even bragged about it among themselves, or at least before they were arrested. They could scarcely do less than admit their guilt, since we are in possession of a letter signed by the four in the dock, found in the possession of a certain Lieutenant White in his dispatch case when the so-called raid of Captain Jameson and his troopers met its deserved end at the twin kopjes of Doornkop outside of Krugersdorp. We consider these four men, therefore, guilty of high treason and ask that they be sentenced accordingly.”
He swung about, facing the other defendants crowded on the benches between Judge Gregorowski and the spectators. Several of the defendants yawned openly. They did not understand a word of Afrikaans and they only wished the wordy bastard would get on with whatever he was trying to say so they could pay whatever fines were going to be imposed and then go home. Fun was fun, but they had wasted enough time in the stinking Pretoria prison, and it was time to get the affair over and done with and get back to work. The prosecutor’s voice became even more contemptuous.
“These other men, these sixty, we simply consider lackeys, fools—dangerous fools who sadly need a lesson, parlous fools had their plan worked, but fools. Dupes. Look at them, Your Honor. They live in our country. Most of them have become prosperous, even wealthy in our country. And yet they planned to overthrow a government that has permitted them the freedom to take the gold from our ground, given them the freedom to build themselves large enterprises, to own huge tracts of land, to exploit our country in every conceivable way, to rob us of our riches, to be more precise. But the State is merciful and does not charge them with high treason. The charge we bring against them, however, is still a serious one. The charge is the distribution of arms, which is proscribed for Uitlanders in our republic. We shall now proceed to prove these charges, Your Honor, although the defendants, both those on the benches before Your Honor and those in the dock, have freely admitted their guilt through their lawyers. They have also agreed not to press any defense but to abide by the decision of this court. We leave to the judgment of Your Honor the punishment for the fools before you, but for the four in the dock, the State requests—nay, demands—the sentence of—”
There was deathly quiet in the large room; people leaned forward on their benches, heat forgotten. Barney’s one fist was clenched tightly; his other hand was squeezing Fay’s hand painfully, but she said nothing. Even the defendants who did not understand the Afrikaans language were suddenly aware that the prosecutor had said something, or was about to say something, of importance. The words came out, flatly, solemnly.
“—hangen by den nek—”
There was a startled gasp from all the defendants as well as from most of the spectators, although there were also some satisfied smiles from others; these words were easily understood whether one spoke the language or not. Angry glares and mutterings broke out among the defendants. It was not possible! A deal had been made, a promise had been broken! Barney stared in bitter anger at the prosecutor, although he knew his fury should have been directed against Lionel Phillips and the idiot lawyers who thought they could make a deal with Paul Kruger after trying to throw him out of his own country. The prosecutor was continuing.
“Your Honor, to begin I should like to present in evidence the letter which these four men in the dock signed, and which was used by Captain Leander Starr Jameson as the excuse for his criminal—and deservedly ill-fated—invasion of the Transvaal territory …”
The following day it was the turn of the defense lawyers, but it was a lost cause and they acted as if they knew it. Barney, listening to them, wondered how anyone that stupid could end up with a university degree and be taken seriously in his profession. The lawyers did their best to undo the damage of their having advised their clients to plead guilty, but their hesitant, stammering words and weak arguments plainly conceded defeat long before they were finished. To state before the court that a deal had supposedly been made with the prosecutor was manifestly impossible; in any case they were sure the only effect of such a statement would have been to make Judge Gregorowski even more intransigent, since he was bound to consider such a deal as being in direct defiance of the law and the authority of his court. And that would undoubtedly result in sentences even more severe. With a final plea for clemency, but with neither fact nor logic to support it, the ashen-faced lawyers sat down, unable to face their clients.
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.”
