In the 1870s, their already bruised reputation came in for another battering. At first it looked as if Thomas Burgers, president of the Transvaal, would help turn the tide of public opinion in their favour. In 1875, he travelled through Europe lobbying support for several ambitious development projects. He made a favourable impression in the Netherlands, at least in liberal circles. Not only did he manage to establish diplomatic ties, he also secured a loan to build a railway from the Transvaal to the Indian Ocean. In addition, he was presented with a national anthem to take home. It was written by the poet Catharina van Rees and opened with the words ‘Do you know that brave nation of heroes?’ But it is doubtful that Burgers sang along merrily after returning to the Transvaal. It was soon clear that the Boers had lost confidence in him. The loan and the railway project had come to nothing, and the population was divided as a result. Two years later the British stepped in and brought an end to the independence of the South African Republic, virtually without lifting a finger. On 12 April 1877, the Union Jack was hoisted on the government building in Pretoria.2
Few tears were shed in the Netherlands. The universities of Utrecht, Amsterdam and Leiden protested against the unconstitutional annexation by Britain, but there was no hint of sympathy for the Boers. Their own fault, according to the liberals, they shouldn’t have turned against Burgers. Their own fault, echoed Albert Kuyper and his orthodox Protestants, united in the Anti-Revolutionary Party. They shouldn’t have backed Burgers in the first place.
The miracle only occurred in December 1880, when the Boers took up arms to overthrow British rule and succeeded in a matter of days. As if by magic, the black sheep of the family were completely transformed in the eyes of the Dutch public. They were suddenly resurrected as long-lost brethren, members of the same glorious tribe of Hollanders, with the same heroic blood in their veins. Simple souls perhaps, but sensible and at worst just a little more conservative than they were used to in the Netherlands. But then, who wouldn’t be, in darkest Africa?
This sudden metamorphosis wasn’t the work of just anybody. Behind it was the worthy intellectual elite, who not only reflected on the Boers’ amazing rehabilitation but were also the first who were willing to take action. Well, action? Addresses, leaflets, editorial comments, solidarity meetings, fundraising, that sort of thing. Still, this total reversal of public opinion was nothing short of spectacular. And behind it were eminent academics.
The initiative was taken by Pieter Harting, a celebrated professor of pharmacology, anatomy, zoology and geology, to name but a few of his specialities, and as such one of the last natural science polymaths at the University of Utrecht. On 23 December 1880, he published a petition ‘To the People of England’ in the Utrechtsch Provinciaal en Stedelijk Dagblad. It was an appeal in the name of justice, on behalf of the people of the Transvaal, ‘the sons of our forefathers’, and it soon rallied support. A fortnight later, with 6082 signatures, the petition was presented to Queen Victoria. Of the signatories 81 were Harting’s peers—81 out of a total of 180 professors in the whole of the Netherlands.
Add to this the hundreds of church ministers, officers, mayors and members of municipal councils, the provincial executives and the States-General who had also signed the appeal, and the conclusion must be that it was the learned elite in the Netherlands who took up the cause of the far less well-educated Boers. It couldn’t have been a feeling of affinity, it was something more like nationalistic projection. Indeed, Harting’s initiative marked the beginning of a period in which the Dutch embraced with growing enthusiasm an increasingly focused dream of a Great Netherlands, kindled by their conquest of the East Indies archipelago and their vicarious pride in the success of their Boer kinsmen in South Africa. The true fires of nationalism were to flare up towards the turn of the century, but in the meantime this was quite a blaze.
Harting, as we have seen, took one of the leading roles in this movement. After the success of his petition, he embarked on another project and founded the Supreme Committee in Support of the Interests of the Transvaal Boers. Its members were a select group from Utrecht, all of them liberal-minded professors, except one. Gerard Beelaerts van Blokland, a senior official at the Ministry of Justice, a man who had longstanding ties with South Africa, also joined the group. He was an orthodox Protestant and became a member of the Anti-Revolutionary Party shortly afterwards.
As its name suggests, the Utrecht Supreme Committee was not the only committee of its kind, but it was the most circumspect, as Harting and his followers expressly limited their efforts in support of the Boer cause to ‘any permissible, i.e. peaceful, means compatible with the neutrality of our fatherland’. They would do nothing that might offend the British government or public opinion, and wanted no part in the wild schemes that local committees in other towns were concocting, like forming a voluntary corps, or collaborating with Irish nationalists.
Their reservations caused some irritation, particularly in Amsterdam. The Amsterdam Committee for the Transvaal, likewise founded in January 1881, was a more heterogeneous group. Besides liberals, its members included conservatives, radicals and anti-revolutionaries. Among the latter was the Anti-Revolutionary Party leader Kuyper, who was also editor-inchief of De Standaard and professor of theology at the Vrije Universiteit, which had been inaugurated three months earlier. The Amsterdam group took a firmer stand and was more outspoken in its views, which appealed to Kuyper. It was evident, for instance, in their resolve to focus their activities primarily on providing humanitarian aid for victims of the war—those on the Boer side, needless to say. Kuyper attacked the Red Cross for refusing to take sides and support only one of the adversaries. He said it was a ‘neutrality that would lead to injustice’.
But these differences within the pro-Boer movement paled into insignificance when it turned out that the Boers were capable of defeating the British on their own. On 27 February 1881, they delivered the final blow on Majuba Hill, a name that would jar in British ears for many years to come. At that point the Utrecht and Amsterdam committees decided to join forces and did so on 12 May. The inaugural meeting of the Dutch South African Association (Nederlandsch Zuid-Afrikaansche Vereeniging) took place in Utrecht. Harting became its honorary chairman by a unanimous vote, and spoke movingly about ‘the duties imposed by ties of blood’.
It was a significant merger—the association exists to this day—but one of its most unusual features failed to survive the first year. It turned out that the Liberals and the Anti-Revolutionaries were not natural allies after all. Kuyper believed that the close religious ties between the orthodox Protestant community and the Boers created an affinity that went beyond the ties of kinship. But his exclusionary ideas found no support in the Dutch South African Association. In the summer of 1882 he resigned from the board along with Paul Fabius and Frans Lion Cachet. In the same year Cachet published a history of the Transvalers infused with the principles of the Anti-Revolutionary Party, as we see from passages like the following: ‘Three months earlier, the side that seemed hopeless against the might of Britain humbly placed its trust in God. That trust was not betrayed. The Republic was liberated.’3
The freedom the Transvalers enjoyed was only relative at that point. The war had ended with a bang but the peace that followed was still inconclusive. The Pretoria Convention, signed on 3 August 1881, was open to interpretation, mainly because it contained ambiguities which the British negotiators had deliberately included on Prime Minister William Gladstone’s instructions. In one and the same sentence, the Transvaal gained ‘complete self-determination’ while remaining subject to the ‘suzerainty of Her Majesty’, namely Queen Victoria. No one knew exactly what the latter phrase implied other than that it radically curtailed the Boer republic’s freedom, notably in its dealings with other states. In Britain it served to maintain the illusion of ultimate control. The Boers contested the clause for precisely that reason. They finally signed the agreement in exchange for an undertaking that the British government would amen
d it, if there was any practical reason for doing so.4
And of course there was, at least as far as the Boers were concerned. In 1883 they decided to send a delegation to London to negotiate amendments to the Convention. Kruger, who had been elected president at the beginning of that year, led the delegation and was accompanied by a general and a dominee, Nicolaas Smit and Stephanus du Toit. Besides London, they were also going to the European mainland, essentially with the same purpose that had sent Burgers to the Continent in 1875. However different Kruger may have been from his predecessor, he was just as eager to develop the Transvaal. He recognised the need for a national bank to reorganise the government’s finances and a rail link to the sea, both under Transvaal control. He also needed a new state attorney. Until recently, the position had been held by the theologian Pieter Jorissen, who had arrived from the Netherlands soon after Burgers, but was found to be too weak in jurisprudence—and too liberal in theology. He was dismissed rather unceremoniously. What Kruger wanted now was a qualified lawyer to manage the expansion of the bureaucracy, ideally someone of orthodox Protestant stock.
With that in mind the delegation set off for Europe. They were received graciously in London in November 1883. Lord Derby, the secretary of state for the colonies in Gladstone’s Cabinet, was willing to reconsider the question of suzerainty, providing the Boers would be flexible in the matter of their south-western border. They were reluctant but ultimately agreed and the atmosphere at the negotiating table remained amicable. Kruger was granted an audience with Queen Victoria and took the opportunity to demonstrate the niceties of drinking hot coffee from the saucer. He also consented to the terms of the agreement. The word ‘suzerainty’ disappeared from the London Convention. The only allusion to it was in article 4, which required the South African Republic to obtain the consent of the British government before entering into an agreement with ‘any State or Nation other than the Orange Free State’, or ‘with any Native Tribe to the east or west’. The document was signed on 27 February 1884, three years to the day after the Battle of Majuba.5
So as far as the first stage of their European mission was concerned, Kruger and his team had reason to be pleased. And they were adequately prepared for what was to follow. Before leaving London they had met with dignitaries from the Netherlands. Beelaerts van Blokland acted as their legal adviser in the negotiations with Lord Derby. Well satisfied, they promptly offered him the position of state attorney. But the Anti-Revolutionary nobleman had recently been elected to the lower house of the Dutch parliament and chose to remain in that office. He did, however, accept an appointment as special envoy of the South African Republic in Europe.
Kuyper also put in an appearance in London. With the help of Du Toit he tried to counter the allegations of the missionary John Mackenzie and others, who had accused the Boers of failing to honour their ‘divine obligation towards Indians, Blacks, Kaffirs and any other race or nation of colour, or any follower of Christ, or any peace-loving persons’. This prompted a lengthy address to the members of the Anti-Slavery Society and the Aborigines Protection Society, which, in Du Toit’s opinion, was not unsuccessful.6
Of a more material nature was the visit to London by the Amsterdam representatives of high finance. Led by Willem Mees and Nicolaas Pierson, the president and the director of the Nederlandsche Bank respectively, they discussed with the delegation the prospect of a national bank and a railway such as they had in mind. There was good news and bad news.
According to the bankers, the international money market didn’t yet have sufficient confidence in the Transvaal economy to extend a bank loan. On the other hand, they believed that a stock market launch of a railway would be feasible. The arrangements could be worked out in detail in Amsterdam.
So all the spadework had been done by the time Kruger, Du Toit and Smit arrived in the Netherlands. Their spirits were raised even further by the warm welcome they received. From the moment they set foot on land in Rotterdam on 29 February 1884 they were given one heart-warming reception after another. In The Hague they appeared on the balcony of the Hotel des Indes to greet the public. In Amsterdam they were serenaded as they drove through the streets from Central Station. This went on for weeks on end. Their programme included a tour not only of the three largest cities but also of Leiden, Utrecht, Amersfoort, Arnhem, Kampen, Groningen and Den Briel.
It was spontaneous, exuberant enthusiasm which, paradoxically, stemmed partly from disunity within the pro-Boer movement. The solidarity of three years earlier had crumbled. Kuyper and his Anti-Revolutionary following had left in 1882 to go their own way. Besides the Dutch South African Association there was now an emigration committee, a standing committee, a joint committee and an organising committee, all jostling to give the Transvaal delegation a special reception, with dignitaries from among their own ranks. As a result, Kruger, in any event, met half of the haut monde of the Netherlands, starting with King Willem III and Queen Emma. Government ministers, members of parliament, members of the Council of State, military and judicial authorities, a line-up of professors from Utrecht, Amsterdam and Leiden, diplomats, members of the provincial executives, mayors and municipal executives—every self-respecting senior official wanted to meet Oom Paul in person.7
Though they basked in the glory, Kruger, Du Toit and Smit hadn’t lost sight of the actual purpose of their mission. They had come to the Continent to get themselves a national bank, a railway line and a state attorney. Mees and Pierson had already intimated in London that their hopes of a bank were too ambitious, but there were still two more things they were determined to accomplish during their visit.
For that they needed to be in Amsterdam. Between receptions and ceremonies they met with representatives of the financial world. A meeting with two engineers, Johannes Groll and David Maarschalk, looked promising. Both were interested in the idea of a railway in the Transvaal. They had made their mark in the Netherlands-East Indies Railway Company in Java as engineers as well as organisers and financiers. With legal advice from Jacob Moltzer, the head of Amsterdam’s law faculty, they drafted a concession for the construction and operation of a railway from Pretoria to the port of Lourenço Marques on the Indian Ocean. The last stretch of the route ran through the Portuguese colony of Mozambique, which meant that the project hinged on securing Portugal’s cooperation. A provisional agreement, subject to that condition, was signed on 16 April 1884.
A day later the Transvaal delegation travelled to Lisbon, again accompanied by Beelaerts van Blokland and this time with Maarschalk as well. A nasty surprise awaited them. The Portuguese government had already awarded a concession for the section of the railway through its territory to an American businessman, Edward McMurdo. And McMurdo, it turned out, was determined to exploit his asset to the full. It seemed to the Transvaal–Dutch group that he had acquired his rights specifically with the intention of selling them to the highest bidder. The only way to avoid being caught up in that kind of speculation was to find an alternative route, besides McMurdo’s. It couldn’t be another railway line, his concession precluded that, but what about a tram? The Portuguese government approved and gave them permission for a tram ‘operated by animal traction’, in other words, a horse-drawn tram.
It wasn’t quite what they had in mind. Back in Amsterdam the Transvaal delegation had to pull out all the stops so as not to lose their investors. It was only Groll and Maarschalk’s faith in the enterprise that kept the railway project afloat. On 24 May 1884 the concession was signed, paving the way for the Netherlands-South African Railway Company. Now they could only wait and see whether ‘the investing public’ would be sufficiently interested to raise the 15 million guilders they needed.8
There was still the outstanding matter of a state attorney. They had sounded out a few reputable lawyers, both Protestant and liberal, but nothing had come of it. One of the candidates was Professor Moltzer, who had made an excellent impression in the negotiations for the railway concession. But he was no more willing than
anyone else to give up a secure position for an uncertain existence in the backwaters of the Transvaal. The Boers’ callous treatment of Jorissen, the previous Dutch incumbent, did nothing to help matters either. Time was running out. At the beginning of June 1884, on Beelaerts van Blokland’s advice, Kruger began to consider looking for someone younger. He asked whether Moltzer could recommend anyone.
Moltzer had the answer at his fingertips. Talented, energetic, but also earnest and reliable, someone with a keen sense of responsibility. There was only one person who fitted the bill: the young doctoral candidate Willem Leyds, who was under the supervision of his close colleague, the law professor Gerard van Hamel. But there was no time to be lost. From 7 to 10 June the Transvaal delegation would be in Berlin for an audience with Kaiser Wilhelm I and Chancellor Bismarck. They were scheduled to leave the Netherlands on 14 June. Leyds’s graduation would take place on 11 June. That left only the last three days of the delegation’s visit to make the necessary arrangements. Moltzer set up an appointment.9
As described above, Kruger met Leyds at the Amstel Hotel and offered him the position of state attorney in the Transvaal. Leyds declined, but at Kruger’s insistence he agreed to reconsider the offer, and then sought his mentor Pierson’s advice.
As one of his lecturers, Pierson knew Leyds’s qualities and assets. As director of the Nederlandsche Bank, he had offered him a position himself. But now he took a different line. He emphasised the importance of developing the Transvaal, homeland of their own flesh and blood, and the importance of the Netherlands’ input in the railway project, in which both he and Moltzer had a personal stake. He spoke about the opportunity for Leyds to gain valuable professional experience and the generous remuneration attached to the appointment: an annual income of £1000 sterling a year—even a government minister didn’t earn more. And he promised to keep the job at the Nederlandsche Bank open.
The Boer War Page 3
