The Boer War

by Martin Bossenbroek

  Everyone got something out of the deal. Rhodes was able to go ahead with his British South Africa Company. In July 1890, even before the convention was signed, he sent a troop of pioneers—including a large number of ‘youngsters of the la-di-da class’—to the promised land of gold in the north. Rhodes knew that would go down well back home. In mid-September they arrived at their destination, a hill in Mashonaland. They named it Fort Salisbury, after the British prime minister, hoisted the Union Jack, said three hurrahs for Queen Victoria, and so the territory was annexed. But unhappily for Rhodes and his pioneers, the fortunes they had dreamed of were nowhere to be found. Lord Randolph Churchill, an influential Conservative politician and shareholder in the BSAC, came specially from London to see for himself, but was forced to conclude that ‘Mashonaland . . . is neither Arcadia nor an El Dorado’.

  The ground contained little of value, so there was nothing to do but either share out the land above it or sell it to the highest bidder. Rhodes had minions for everything and this, he decided, was a job for ‘Doctor Jim’. Leander Starr Jameson was a Scot by birth, a physician by profession and an adventurer by vocation. He was stubborn to the point of being reckless, a man after Rhodes’s heart. He did what was expected of him: he put an end to the Ndebele problem. Lobengula tried to avoid a conflict, sent letters and envoys to Queen Victoria, and managed to ward off his downfall for a couple of years. But in November 1893 his time ran out. Jameson provided the pretext and executed the sentence, with a little over a thousand men armed with state-of-the-art Maxim machine guns. The Ndebeles’ spears and even their Martini-Henry rifles were a poor match. Lobengula fled from Bulawayo and committed suicide. Matabeleland became Rhodesia and its old name was soon forgotten.73

  A whole country named after you. That was even more than Kruger had achieved. The convention of August 1890 gave the Transvaal joint control over Swaziland and a conditional right to a corridor through which they could build a railway to Kosi Bay in Tsongaland. There was still a lot to discuss—not so much with the Swazis and Tsongas: they would have to wait and see what happened—but mainly with the British colonial authorities in Cape Town and London. The talks dragged on for years. Sir Henry Loch was the hardest nut to crack. In the end it was Lord Ripon, secretary of state for the colonies, who acceded to the Boers’ demands. In November 1893, Swaziland effectively came under the control of the Transvaal and in December 1894 it was annexed. Young King Ngwane V could only resign himself to the fact. Kruger gained a feather in his cap. The gateway to the coast was open at last and an independent harbour seemed within reach.

  How much greater the disappointment when that gateway was barricaded almost immediately afterwards, courtesy of Sir Henry. He would soon be leaving as high commissioner but he still had another unpleasant surprise in store, like the time he and Kruger had first met, in Blignautspont five years earlier. On this occasion Sir Henry insisted on the speedy annexation of adjacent lands in the Tsonga, Sambane and Mbikiza territories. Lord Ripon considered this an appropriate parting gift. On 16 March 1895 Tsongaland was formally annexed. After all the expectations Britain had been raising, Leyds noted bitterly, it had now erected ‘this wall, which cut Swaziland off from the sea, and therefore kept the South African Republic landlocked as well’.74

  Now everything hinged on the eastern line. After the Rothschild loan of July 1892, money was no longer the biggest problem and no problem at all when the financial markets in Amsterdam and Berlin rallied in November, yielding another loan of 31 million guilders, paid out directly to the Netherlands-South African Railway Company. It enabled the company to pull out the stops and forge ahead. A good thing too, because there were enough problems on other fronts, technical, logistical and, most importantly, personnel. Director Middelberg and Verwey’s successor, the chief engineer Breuning, had their hands full. Looming over them was the rapidly completed southern line, which came into service on 1 January 1893. Pretoria and Johannesburg now had direct links to Cape Town.

  Politically, too, the eastern line was still a headache for the Transvaal government. The ‘Dutch’ railway as well as everything related to it was at the centre of a tough campaign in the run-up to the presidential elections of February 1893. Vice-President Piet Joubert had stood against Kruger twice in the past, in 1883 and 1888, but this time his chances looked good. It was a neck-and-neck race. It took all Kruger’s political weight and powers of persuasion—foul play too, according to his defeated rival—to win by a narrow margin of 7911 to 7246 votes. Kruger’s position was apparently not unassailable.

  That was something he and Leyds would have to bear in mind, especially in their dealings abroad. From a diplomatic point of view, the eastern line had been a thorny issue right from the start. It was a Dutch railway financed by German and British capital, running from a British city on Transvaal territory to a Portuguese harbour. There was also the formidable Colossus of Rhodes to contend with, their neighbour to the south, west and north, who was determined to gain control of the Portuguese end of the railway line and become their neighbour to the east as well. Operating from a narrow local power base, Leyds had to perform an intricate balancing act. Though no longer government commissioner, he was still the Transvaal government’s railways man.

  As all communications with the railway company and its overseas stakeholders were conducted through the state secretary’s office, the company’s ups and downs were chronicled in Leyds’s official and personal correspondence. Those documents reveal that in the spring of 1893 Leyds was also unhappy with the company, particularly its management. To begin with, he had expected more appreciation for the loan the Transvaal government had wrested from Rothschild on its behalf. But after securing a capital loan in its own right in November 1892, the company spent months quibbling over the terms of the Rothschild loan. Moreover, Leyds felt it was time to transfer its headquarters from Amsterdam to Pretoria. That would make it more effective and put an end to a situation in which management only looked after their European shareholders. Leyds felt that the company should be supporting the national interests of the Transvaal as well. For a while he contemplated a totally different structure: a nationalised enterprise pooled with the British colonial railway companies. But he soon abandoned the idea. By the second half of 1893 relations were back to normal. A compromise was reached as to where the headquarters should be based. Van den Wall Bake would continue to operate from Amsterdam, but Middelberg, who had been commuting between Europe and South Africa, would settle in Pretoria indefinitely, as from the beginning of 1894.75

  Leyds made it clear that he had to balance different interests. The economic importance of the railway company still played a role, but the political interests of the Transvaal weighed more heavily. Those considerations also had diplomatic implications, as he revealed when a third party, Natal, joined the ‘race to the Rand’.

  The agreement between the Transvaal and the Cape Colony had only strengthened the other British colony’s determination to establish a direct link between Durban and Johannesburg. Natal redoubled its efforts to extend its own railway line, which went as far as Charlestown, on the border, warning that it would otherwise have to consider a connection to the Cape line. That couldn’t be ruled out. There was already a line from Ladysmith in Natal to Harrismith in the Orange Free State, and it wouldn’t be difficult to extend it. The Transvaal would suffer as a result. It wouldn’t benefit from an economic merger between the two British colonies, as it would in the case of their respective competitors. Kruger and Leyds ultimately considered this more important than the anticipated loss of revenue on the eastern line. They decided to give in to the pressure from Natal. The Volksraad consented. The agreement was concluded in February 1894. The Transvaal would have a third rail link extending beyond its frontiers, this time to Durban in the south-east.

  There was still a lot to be ironed out with the Netherlands-South African Railway Company, of course, which was dismayed at the arrival of a new competitor. The only consolation was tha
t it would ultimately be running this line as well. But outside parties that were directly or indirectly involved—Natal itself, the Orange Free State and Portugal—would also have to be informed. Each was given its own tailor-made version of the story: that the Transvaal simply had no choice, and that the other two lines wouldn’t suffer as a result. Leyds had the honour of explaining the situation, both locally and in Lisbon, and he did so with admirable diplomacy. On his European trip he also made a flying visit to Berlin, in January 1894. This turned out to be a good move. He was received by the young Kaiser Wilhelm II, who was deeply impressed by the whole enterprise. By the time the eastern line was nearing completion, in September 1894, everyone was pleased with the Transvaal’s three-way system.

  Everyone? Cecil Rhodes lived by his own rules. That same month the newspapers announced that he had bought Lourenço Marques. Rumours to that effect had circulated before, but now it seemed there was indeed something afoot. At the same time, King Gungunhana of Gaza, the territory near the border between Mozambique and the newly founded Rhodesia, was preparing to attack the port. In addition, the British consul in Lourenço Marques was allowing sailors to land there. That surely couldn’t be a coincidence? It looked suspiciously like a hostile takeover. Lourenço Marques and Pretoria sent anxious telegrams. From Berlin the Kaiser ordered three warships to make for Delagoa Bay.76

  Lifeline

  Lourenço Marques, July 1895

  It turned out to be a false alarm. In any event, the British insisted that their intentions were honourable. Leyds had his own thoughts on the matter, but noted with satisfaction that they had tied themselves into a diplomatic knot vis-à-vis Berlin. That was all to the good of the Transvaal. A new player had appeared on the scene, which even ‘Mighty England’ would have to deal with. Kruger had been pinning his hopes on ascendant Germany, and now the time seemed ripe to strengthen his ties with his powerful ally.

  Kaiser Wilhelm II needed little encouragement. He had dispensed with the ‘old pilot’ Bismarck some time before and taken the helm himself. He was pompous and impulsive, at his best when set on a collision course. ‘Willy’, along with half the crowned heads of Europe, was related to Queen Victoria, her grandson in fact, but for him water was thicker than blood: the water of the seven seas (let there be no mistake), over which the Royal Navy had ruled long enough. He wanted a fleet of his own, a ‘place in the sun’ for Germany and a leading role on the international political stage for himself. Southern Africa looked like a good place to start.

  Pretoria read the signs with relief. Leyds had remarked on the kaiser’s interest in their affairs when he visited Berlin in January 1894. He had been graciously received at the annual Ordensfest. ‘The Emperor addressed me twice, the Empress once,’ he noted with satisfaction. He was to convey the emperor’s regards to President Kruger and his good wishes for ‘the speedy completion of the Delagoa railway’. The iron was hot and the official inauguration of the eastern line was a good time to strike. It was an opportunity, Leyds suggested to the Volksraad, ‘to make a political showing’ by inviting ‘Germany and Holland to be represented by a warship in Delagoa Bay’. As far as he was concerned, France was welcome too, although its relations with Germany under Wilhelm II were strained. In the end they decided to invite only the countries from which funds had been invested in the railway. These included Britain and the host country, Portugal. In their presence the German warship would have even more impact, Leyds explained to Beelaerts van Blokland: ‘a demonstration is not without political significance for us.’77

  The invitations were sent out in July 1894. The celebrations would take place a year later. It could have been sooner—the eastern line came into service on 1 January 1895—but that was the middle of summer, unbearably hot in Lourenço Marques and therefore unwise with so many dignitaries attending. In any case, it left more time for the preparations. The arrangement suited Leyds, who had to organise the event, on top of his usual duties. He considered it one of his tasks to inform the Republic’s new allies about the Transvaal’s constitutional status. The most important point was Britain’s claim to suzerainty. In Leyds’s opinion, this had come to an end with the London Convention of 1884. But that infernal word was still being bandied about in British government circles. He sent several memorandums with official documentation to Berlin to persuade at least the German government that the Transvaal was correct about its constitutional status. For a wider public he published a watered-down version in the Kölnische Zeitung.

  In his own peculiar way, Kruger also took steps to strengthen his country’s ties with Germany, particularly its head of state. Wilhelm’s belligerent response to the threat of a British takeover of Lourenço Marques had done the old Boer warrior some good. A few months later, on 27 January 1895, Kruger took advantage of the emperor’s birthday to reciprocate. At a dinner in Pretoria, hosted by the French consul Franz von Herff, he toasted the emperor and then proceeded with a typical Kruger-style allegory. He cast the Transvaal as a child that had outgrown its clothes but received no new ones from Britain. Germany, however, understood that the Transvaal was growing and needed a bigger size, for which the youngster was deeply grateful. The tale, inspired by the Bible, won Kruger, via Beelaerts van Blokland, a telegram of thanks from the emperor and the assurance of his ‘enduring support’.78

  The cordial relationship between the two heads of state was reaffirmed during the celebrations from 8 to 10 July 1895. The official guests, local and foreign, met up in Pretoria and from there went east in gaily decorated trains. They travelled 560 kilometres through the highveld, the lowveld, and then the crowning moment: the sea, Lourenço Marques. It was a glorious triumph for Kruger. His dream had come true at last. Right from the start of his presidency in 1883 he had fought for this one ‘great cause’. His predecessor, Burgers, had stalled; he had persevered. It had been exhausting, many had lost faith, but there it was, the sea, the Indian Ocean, his salvation. The Transvaal finally had a lifeline to the outside world—with a German warship parading in the harbour. Awaiting him on board was a congratulatory telegram from the kaiser. It was intended, Von Herff assured Leyds, ‘to affirm that Germany would never allow Delagoa Bay to fall into British hands’.79

  It was ‘a great success by and large’, as Leyds concluded in an ‘appraisal’ of the festivities. It was his victory too, a reward for his perseverance. Personally, however, he wasn’t in the best of spirits. He had been working too hard, had felt unwell for some time, and his family’s health wasn’t all it should be either. Louise had been suffering from ‘frightful headaches’ and had gone to Durban for a few months to recuperate. As a result of her absence Willem had missed the first two days of the celebrations, ‘because my son was unwell and the doctor advised me not to leave town’. Louise fortunately made a speedy recovery and Leyds was able to travel to Lourenço Marques on the last day of the festivities, just in time to accompany Kruger on a visit to the Dutch frigate, the Koningin Wilhelmina. It wasn’t an unqualified success. Formal and decorous, Leyds was offended by the officers’ slovenly appearance. They were ‘in full dress uniform, of course, but some of them hadn’t shaved! The stubble on the President’s face, which has embarrassed me so often on occasions like this, will never bother me again!’ By comparison ‘the British governors, admiral and officers were . . . infinitely better turned out.’80

  But still, personal vexations aside, the eastern line, which was now operational, was doing exceptionally well financially. As of 1 January 1895 the Transvaal had its coveted railway to the sea, and all the advantages that went with it. The political benefits were having a link to the outside world that wasn’t controlled by the meddlesome British, and a European ally that seemed willing and able to restrain them.

  Economically, the line gave the Transvaal government more room to manoeuvre as far as its administration was concerned and the railway company more freedom in managing its commercial affairs. Besides the eastern line, the contract with the Cape railway company gave Midd
elberg and his colleagues responsibility for the southern line as well, with immediate effect. The Netherlands-South African Railway Company’s profits skyrocketed. Its closing balance of around 2.5 million guilders at the end of 1894 was clearly going to increase in 1895, and, indeed, the turnover at the end of the year came to almost 20 million guilders, with 4.5 million guilders’ profit.

  That was a huge sum of money. And from the Transvaal’s point of view, the best part of it was that under the terms of the railway concession, 85 per cent of the net profit, 3.9 million guilders, went to the government—not counting the dividend it was entitled to as the principal shareholder. It had taken more than a decade, but now that the trains were finally running, the wait had been well worthwhile. The company was a phenomenal source of revenue for the Transvaal’s treasury.81

  Politically, economically and financially, the eastern line gave the South African Republic more room to breathe, and its leaders, notably the president and state secretary, a huge psychological boost. For years Kruger and Leyds had been maligned for their obstinacy and for favouring the Dutch, but now at last they were vindicated. An independent link to the sea, in trusted hands—that was what they had aimed for and the whole of the Transvaal was reaping the benefits.