Reciprocity between unequal parties

King David Kalakaua and his party visiting the US, 1874. (L-R) Gov. John Dominis of Oahu, Luther Severance (son of former US Minister), Kalakaua, US Minister Henry Peirce, Gov. John Kapena of Maui.

This is the third installment of a series about King David Kalakaua of Hawaii.

Under Lunalilo’s reign, attempts to negotiate a reciprocity treaty with the US failed amidst disagreement over the details. Hawaiian sugar planters pushed for a deal that would allow their production to arrive in the U.S. duty-free, but segments of the population, especially native Hawaiians, fiercely opposed a proposal to cede Pearl River Lagoon in order to, so to speak, sweeten the deal. With the blasting of coral reef that blocked the lagoon’s entrance, it could become a major harbor serving strategic purposes for the U.S. across the North Pacific.

When David Kalakaua was elected king in February 1874, Hawaii’s business interests made no immediate move to push again for reciprocity. They took the line that they would develop alternative markets among Britain’s Pacific colonies. But shipments to those markets actually declined, and the sugar industry remained in a slump. Within a few months, the planters petitioned the king to start new talks with the U.S.

According to one source, Kalakaua had in fact already made a secret deal with the planters during his election campaign, even promising to cede Pearl Harbor.* If this is true, it would explain why American business interests came around so strongly in favor of Kalakaua despite the perception up till then that he was anti-American. On the other hand, when it came time for the king’s envoys to visit the U.S., they were given firm instructions not to consider any cession of Pearl Harbor.** And indeed, the harbor never became an item for discussion in the 1874-75 talks. Perhaps Kalakaua skillfully manipulated the planters during the election period—but in the end the planters would get everything they wanted, and the kingdom of Hawaii would be destroyed.

The king visits the U.S.

Kalakaua needed no urging to visit the U.S. He’d talked about making a tour even before the subject of the treaty came up. As we’ll see on his 1881 around-the-world trip, he relished the idea of paying calls on heads of state, attending ceremonial banquets, and taking in the sights of capital cities. Critics would say his trips were pleasure-seeking junkets, but he did address international issues with other heads of state, and his trip to the U.S. served a definite purpose.

In August 1874 the Cabinet formally recommended a trip to Washington. Chief Justice Elisha Allen and Henry A. P. Carter, a prominent figure in the sugar business,                  were chosen as negotiators; the king was to follow a month later—not to negotiate but to make speeches and promote awareness of Hawaii. Allen and Carter arrived in Washington mid-November and began talks with the Secretary of State, Hamilton Fish.

U.S. Secretary of State Hamilton Fish.

In the meantime the king sailed aboard the U.S.S. Benecia to San Francisco. He and his party (see photo at top) were received with ceremonial gun salutes and greeted by military and civic dignitaries. He stayed in San Francisco for a week before journeying by rail to Washington, then progressing onward to New York, New Bedford (tied to Hawaii by the whaling trade), Boston (tied by missionaries), Niagara, Chicago, St. Louis, and back to San Francisco for return to Honolulu. Altogether his trip lasted three months.

It was a tour that would have taxed the stamina of the sturdiest constitution. As it turned out, both the king and the other native Hawaiian member of his party, Governor John Kapena of Maui, came down with severe colds early in the trip. The “Hawaiian Gazette” reported: “It is to be regretted that His Majesty allowed himself to be persuaded by the city authorities at Omaha to accept an invitation to ride out in an open carriage and view the place, in midwinter and during a snowstorm.”*** I picture the members of the royal party, accustomed to Hawaii’s balmy climate, shivering under their fur rugs. But every town wanted to give them proper hospitality, as this was the first time a foreign monarch had visited the American republic.

King Kalakaua meets President Grant.

Once in Washington, the king spent three days holed up in his hotel, trying to recover. He emerged December 18 for a reception at the White House, where his approach was heralded by the Marine Band’s rendition of the Hawaiian national anthem. He chatted on a sofa with President Grant before other dignitaries approached and “the conversation became general.”#  The next day he was presented to a joint session of Congress, but his speech had to be read for him, as his voice remained hoarse. On the 22nd, an official state dinner with thirty guests was held at the White House, the first U.S. state dinner ever held.

Then on to New York it was, where the king’s health was once again imperiled by a sleigh ride in Central Park. But by now he’d hit his stride, and he maintained a full schedule.  On Christmas Day he attended a service at a big Fifth Avenue church,  posed for his picture in his full dress uniform at a prominent photo gallery, made a speech to Hawaiian businessmen residing in New York, and in the evening viewed a performance of “Macbeth” at Booth’s Theater. There he was introduced to the leading players, and many champagne corks were popped. This was to be followed by a demonstration of the “promptness of the Fire Department” in response to His Majesty’s pulling an alarm, but the firemen had to be called away for a real fire. So he returned to his hotel for several rounds of billiards before retiring for the night. Due to the demands of his schedule that day, he could not accept an invitation to speak to the crowds at P.T. Barnum’s Traveling Museum, Menagerie, Caravan & Hippodrome.

The treaty negotiations

Before the king even made it back to Honolulu, Allen and Carter reached agreement with Secretary of State Fish on terms of a treaty. It called for reciprocal admission of specified items, duty-free, into the countries, and was signed January 30, 1875.

But that was only the beginning. The convention, as it was called, had to be ratified  in both houses of U.S. Congress and approved by the Kingdom of Hawaii, and signed into law. The process was not formally completed until August 15, 1876 (although the treaty is generally known as the Reciprocity Treaty of 1875).

The Senate right away added an amendment that imposed a one-sided obligation on Hawaii: it must not allow any nation other than the U.S. to have preferential access to any of its ports, and it must not admit products of other nations duty-free. With this retriction, the convention was ratified by the Senate and by King Kalakaua and President Grant in spring of 1875. But an enabling bill did not even reach the U.S. House of Representatives until January 1876, due to delays in organizing that session of Congress, and in its final form it had to go back to the Senate.

In Hawaii there was general support for the treaty among both natives and foreigners, but in the U.S. the issue was debated for months. Sugar planters in the South opposed the deal, saying it would fatally injure them. Legislators argued that reciprocity treaties were  either unconstitutional in principle or that the loss of duty revenues in this particular treaty amounted to a subsidy for Hawaiian planters.

These objections were overcome by a compelling argument: the treaty would protect U.S. strategic interests in the Pacific, build up American business in Hawaii, create stronger U.S.-Hawaii ties, and build new markets for American goods. To this it was sometimes added that without U.S. reciprocity, Hawaii would be forced to look to Britain and would ultimately become part of the British commercial and political system.

On June 17, 1876, Kalakaua proclaimed the treaty, and on August 15 Grant signed it into law.

President Ulysses S. Grant.

An unequal deal

On the face of it, the treaty wasn’t unfair to Hawaii, apart from the lopsided restriction on the kingdom’s relations with other nations. And it did not call for the cession of Pearl Harbor. Yet one might wonder about a treaty between two nations so unequal in size. Is a deal between a classroom bully and a small kid likely to end up well for the kid?

After 1876, politicians and business interests in the U.S. made such a fuss with objections to the treaty that by 1887, when it was up for renewal, the only way Hawaii could ensure continued duty-free exports was to grant the use of Pearl Harbor as a coaling and repair station for U.S. ships. At any rate, Americans in Hawaii had no objection to that, but Kalakaua was virtually strong-armed into accepting something unpalatable to native Hawaiians. In the same year, he was forced to accept the “Bayonet Constitution ” (more on that later).

And Pearl Harbor would become a moot point by 1895, with the overthrow of Kalakaua’s successor, his sister Queen Lili’uokalani, by American interests.

In the meantime, who in Hawaii benefited from the boost to the sugar economy? Certainly not the residents whose ancestors had ruled those islands for hundreds of years. As an observer described it in 1901:

“As soon as this scheme [the 1875 treaty] was put through Congress… this gang [the sugar planters] hurried back to the islands, to cheat the poor natives out of their land before they learned that this treaty would make it worth…. What they could not buy they managed to lease for a pittance on long terms. If a native was stubborn and held onto his land they would surround him with their plantations and squeeze him out, by making his land worthless to him, for a man of small means can do nothing toward making sugar… This is the history of a hundred men who live in Honolulu and are known as sugar kings… these fellows do not think they have done much unless they make a yearly profit of a hundred percent.”##

Pearl Harbor in the 1880s.

* Michael Dougherty, To Steal a Kingdom: Probing Hawaiian History. Waimanalo, HI: Island Style Press, 1992, p. 130.

** Ralph S. Kuykendall, The Hawaiian Kingdom. Vol. III. 1874-1893: The Kalakaua Dynasty. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1967, p.  22.

*** “Hawaiian Gazette,” January 6, 1875, p. 2.

# “Hawaiian Gazette,” January 20, 1875, p. 2.

## Robert Meredith, Around the World on Sixty Dollars. Chicago: Thomas & Thomas, 1901. Quoted in Michael Dougherty, To Steal a Kingdom, p. 132.

 

Election and violence in Hawaii, 1874

Queen Emma, the opponent of David Kalakaua.

This is the second in a series about King David Kalakaua of Hawaii.

It was a contest between a large boisterous man and a solemn, pious widow. Once again, a king had died without a successor, and Hawaii’s constitution called for a legislative vote to determine the next ruler.

As we saw in the last post, when King Kamehameha V died in 1872, two contenders quickly emerged—William Lunalilo and David Kalakaua. The former was so confident of support that he called for a popular vote, which he won in a landslide. This vote carried no legal force, but when the legislators convened for their balloting, they knew very well that if they ignored the popular will, they’d have reason to fear for their safety. The mobs gathered around the court house building made sure of that.

Just a year later, Lunalilo was dead of tuberculosis compounded by alcoholism. More than anyone else, Kalakaua seems to have anticipated the untimely end of Lunalilo’s rule. He’d conceded graciously when “Prince Bill” won the vote, and he accepted appointment as colonel in the king’s Household Troops. But within a few months of Lunalilo’s accession, Kalakaua was busily promoting a political party, “The Young Hawaiians,” with the crowd-pleasing slogan of “Hawaii for the Hawaiians.” To some observers, it seemed a bit odd that the party had its own military company.

Most likely, Kalakaua simply saw that the well-liked Lunalilo had such a problem with drink that, one way or another, he’d be unable to continue as ruler. This was no Ulysses S. Grant who was able to serve as commander-in-chief of the Union Army despite occasional binges. Lunalilo retreated into the bottle for days at a time, entirely disconnected from the world.

During the barracks mutiny of September 1873, some folks observed Kalakaua engaging in unusual activity. Queen Emma, who would soon oppose him in the next election, reported to her cousin that Kalakaua gave signals to the soldiers when he was acting as an intermediary in negotiations. “By using his hands in the native negative or vice versa [in traditional Hawaiian gestures], the men were to understand they must obey or do contrary to his address to them.”*

King David Kalakaua.

Kalakaua had no need for further intrigue after that, for Lunalilo grew very ill and soon died. Everyone knew Kalakaua wanted to try again  for the throne. An active and gregarious man, he’d held posts in government for years and as a member of the noble ali’i faithfully attended every legislative session. Many of the native Hawaiians looked up to him, but the foreigners weren’t so sure. The American minister, Henry Peirce, gave this assessment: “He is ambitious, flighty, and unstable. Very energetic, but lacks prudence and good sense.”**

Queen Emma soon emerged as Kalakaua’s opponent. She had been the wife of King Kamehameha IV and came from Hawaii’s chief clans. Among the ali’i, highest status came from connection with Kamehameha I (Kamehameha the Great). Emma boasted several of those connections. For one, her paternal grandmother was a cousin of Kamehameha’s most high-ranking wife.  By contrast, Kalakaua lacked that prestigious  tie, though he came from an old Hawaii clan.

Queen Emma and Kamehameha IV.

Emma was one-quarter British by way of her maternal grandfather, John Young, who had served as advisor to Kamehameha I. Further British influence came in her childhood from the parents who adopted her in the Hawaiian hanai tradition. They were the British Dr. Thomas  C.B. Rooke and Emma’s aunt, Chiefess Grace Kam’iku’i Young Rooke. Emma grew up as an Anglophile and later in life visited Windsor Castle and corresponded with Queen Victoria.

Pictures of Emma show a beautiful woman with a disdainful expression. She must have been admired by men wherever she went.  Well educated, musically talented, and skilled in horsemanship, she had dark, penetrating eyes and a serious manner. At the age of 20 she married Alexander Liholiho, who had assumed the throne the previous year as Kamehameha IV.  Two years later she gave birth to Prince Albert Edward Kamehameha.

The king and queen delved into religious issues. They petitioned the Church of England to establish an Anglican branch in Hawaii. They were baptized upon the arrival of an Anglican bishop, and Queen Emma raised funds for the construction of St. Andrews Cathedral. The king made a translation of the Book of Common Prayer into Hawaiian. Emma was also known for establishing the Queen’s Hospital, a public institution serving native Hawaiians.

But tragedy struck. On August 27, 1862, the four-year-old Prince Albert died. According to one account, his father blamed himself for the death, which occurred after he gave the child a cold shower as punishment for minor disobedience. Another version says that Emma blamed Kalakaua’s wife, Kapi’olani, who she said was supposed to take care of Albert as  his governess. Just a year later, the king himself died of chronic asthma… or of grief, depending upon the source.

Hawaiian history is full of strange incidents told in contradictory ways. For instance, Kamehameha IV shot his personal secretary Henry Neilson in the chest in 1859, a man he liked perfectly well, because (a) he’d been drinking (but he wasn’t generally regarded as a drunk), or (b) he suspected Neilson of a flirtation with Emma (but she wasn’t the flirtatious type). The incident wasn’t reported in the papers, and Neilson died of the wound two years later.

Emma never remarried. After her husband’s brother, Lot Kapuaiwa, assumed the throne as Kamehameha V, there was talk of convincing him to take a wife, as mentioned in our last post.  One of the foreign ministers suspected that he was in love with Emma.***   This suspicion was confirmed in private conversation with the king. But discussions with the two parties made it clear that marriage was impossible, due to Emma’s devotion to her departed husband and her identification with the Anglican church, of which Kamehameha V was not a member. The king’s extreme obesity could have been another factor.

The question of successorship

When Lunalilo died, Emma claimed he’d expressed his wish that she follow him on the throne.  Many of the king’s associates did believe Emma was his choice—not necessarily because they supported her, but because they all knew he disliked Kalakaua. In  his last days Emma and her friends hovered around his bedside, dropping broad hints as he slipped in and out of consciousness, but the elusive Lunalilo passed away without officially proclaiming anything.

Kalakaua declared his candidacy for the throne the day after Lunalilo died, and Emma followed suit a day later.  Each one issued a proclamation, full of suitably grandiose words like “whereas,” “hereby,” and “perpetuity.” Kalakaua’s spoke of “permanent  independence” for Hawaii and “equity, liberty, prosperity, progress, and protection of the whole people.” Emma’s zeroed in on her claim of Lunalilo’s “wish and intention” that she be his successor.

Above all, Kalakaua wanted to avoid what had happened before, a popular vote with no legal force but effectively intimidating the legislators. Emma, on the other hand, requested her “beloved people… to assemble peacefully and orderly in their districts, and to give formal expression to their views.” That sounded a lot like the call for a plebescite in the last election, but she never gained enough traction to force an irregular popular vote.

In the end, the success or failure of the candidates depended not on platforms or promises or claims of succession but on how people imagined each of them saw the future of the Hawaiian nation. Emma naturally took a pro-British stance. Kalakaua made a lot of noise about continued independence that alarmed some of the American community—but he was not explicitly anti-American. Therefore, the dominant pro-American business interests came around to support him.

Mass meetings were held across the islands; fiery speeches were made; and feelings ran high among the populace. American and  British ministers in Honolulu began to fear violence. At the time of the election, three warships were moored in the Honolulu harbor—two American and one British. A contingency plan was made for a shore-to-ship signal requesting the landing of troops, in case things got out of hand.

Honolulu Harbor in 1881.

The riots

February 12 was the day of the vote. Hundreds of “Emmaites” gathered at her house and marched to the court house to join crowds already there. Shortly after noon the votes were cast. It was 39 for Kalakaua and 6 for Emma. The news quickly spread to the crowds. As legislative members attempted to leave the building, they were attacked and in some cases wounded before they escaped back indoors. It was only the absence of firearms that prevented widespread fatalities. Rioters tore apart a carriage waiting at the door and used parts of it as clubs; the court house was pelted with sticks and stones.

Old Honolulu court house.

Guards at the front entrance held off the mobs, but the rioters ran around back and got in that way. They rampaged through the building, breaking windows and destroying desks, chairs, books and papers. Quite a few legislators were wounded, one of them fatally. An unfortunate soul was thrown out of a second-story window and pummeled by the crowd. Policemen took off their badges and joined in the fray.

After a half hour or so, the shore-to-ship signal was displayed. A hundred and fifty American troops arrived on the scene, soon followed by 70 men from the British vessel. The crowds cheered the British seamen, thinking they had come to join Queen  Emma’s cause. This was of course a sadly naive view.

The troops soon restored order. During the rioting, several people had hurried to Emma’s house, thinking they could persuade her to address and soothe her supporters. But she’d told these visitors that the riot was “no concern of hers.”# It was not until the top foreign ministers made a formal request to her that Emma emerged, later that day, and addressed the crowds, telling them they must accept that Kalakaua had been duly elected. Wild rumors had been flying around that this election had been illegal, soon to be followed by a second one putting Emma on the throne.

And so calm was restored, but relations between Emma and Kalakaua never became friendly.

King Kamehameha IV.

* Ralph S. Kuykendall, The Hawaiian Kingdom. Vol. II. 1854-1874: Twenty Critical Years. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1953, p. 261.

** Ralph S. Kuykendall, The Hawaiian Kingdom. Vol. III. 1874-1893: The Kalakaua Dynasty. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1967, p.  5.

*** Kuykendall Vol. II, p. 240.

# Quoted in Julia Flynn Siler, Lost Kingdom: Hawaii’s Last Queen, The Sugar Kings and America’s First Imperial Adventure. New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 2012.

Lunalilo: Hawaii’s democratic, alcoholic king

William Charles Lunalilo, 1835-1874.

This is the start of a series centering on King David Kalakaua of Hawaii. The first installment concerns Kalakaua’s predecessor on the throne, Lunalilo.

On December 11, 1872, King Kamahameha V died. He was the last of the House of Kamehameha, the royal dynasty established in 1795 by Kamehameha I, or Kamehameha the Great, who battled the chiefs of neighboring islands and won their allegiance. With the help of newly arrived foreign advisors and weapons made of materials other than stone, he established the Kingdom of Hawaii.

Kamehameha V. Retouched photo by J.J. Williams.

Kamehameha V weighed 375 pounds when he died, according to the estimate of A. Francis Judd, a young American who served as attorney general and chief justice in Hawaiian government. The king had not appeared outside the palace yard for ten months.* He died unmarried and without having appointed a successor. Indeed, the legislature had been so concerned after the only valid successor died (the king’s sister) that one member proposed a resolution to designate a wife for the king. This was defeated, and earnest suggestions to the king that he marry were greeted with genial laughter.** The Hawaiian constitution specified that in such a case of no clear successor, the legislature should elect one from among the native ali’i–the noble families.

The islands buzzed with gossip about possible candidates, but it soon became clear that only two were viable, David Kalakaua and William Lunalilo. Kalakaua was the son of High Chief Caesar Kaluaiku Kapa’akea and High Chiefess Analea Keohokalelo, but he lacked blood ties with the Kamehameha family. Lunalilo was the grandson of the half-brother of Kamehameha I. Some claimed he was the grandson of Kamehameha I himself. This was not the case, but Lunalilo did not refute the claim, and his supporters angrily insisted on it.

The recently deceased king had considered Lunalilo unworthy to be a successor, though admitted he was the most likely to command popular support.*** “Prince Bill,” as he was known, had many virtues—foreigners as well as  natives saw him as intelligent, well-read, and sympathetic to the needs of the people—but he had one fatal problem: alcohol.

He was born in 1835 to High Chief Charles Kana’ina and High Chiefess Miriam Auhea Kekauluohi, sometimes called the “Big Mouthed Queen” by foreigners. His mother had such high hopes for him when he was born that she insisted on the name “Luna lilo”— “so high up as to be lost in sight.” She died when he was 10.

The American Judd, who came to know Lunalilo very well as his attorney general in the single year of his reign, wrote:  “Let us picture to ourselves this handsome boy Lunalilo, with his regular features and comely figure, the darling of his mother…; a swarm of servants to do his bidding, to dress and undress him, to lomi [massage] him when tired, to carry him on their backs, to stand his cuffs without resentment, to help him break the rules of the school, to shield him from punishment when he deserved discipline, in fact his slaves.”#

Lunalilo in his teens.

He was popular with fellow students and did well enough in his studies at the Royal School, where he became proficient in English. But he left school at 15 and retreated to the home where he’d been born, a two-story house made of coral brick located next to the palace of the first Kamehamehas. There he lived an idle life and developed a fondness for liquor.

The sale of liquor to native Hawaiians had long been banned—Kamehameha V even upheld this discriminatory prohibition, denouncing the evils of alcohol for his people—but it remained readily available, either sold illegally or made by the Hawaiians themselves, who distilled their famous okolehao. This was traditionally made from the root of the ti plant, a member of the lily family. Originally a low-alcohol fermented product, it was transformed into a powerful spirit after 1790, when English seamen introduced the method of distillation. It has continued to be produced, either legally or illegally, and was peddled continuously to US military personnel during WWII. Many recipes have been used over the years, varying in the proportion of ti root used and the varieties of other ingredients thrown into the mix. Island Distillers in Honolulu makes a 100-proof “Hawaiian Moonshine” that is supposed to resemble old-time okolehao.

In view of his habits, Lunalilo was put into guardianship at the age of 24. Each time his small allowance was paid, he invested it in drink. He spent his sober hours at home alone reading magazines. He never traveled, even to the other islands. When he got drunk, he liked to wander about until a crowd gathered, “to whom he could quote Shakespeare, recite declamations he had learned at Mr. Cooke’s School, and sing English man-of-war songs, notably the ‘Death of Nelson’.”##

He was employed only a very short time, as a clerk. King Kamehameha V, hoping to provide him with a useful pursuit, gave him a military uniform and had him serve on the palace staff. When he was court-martialed for raucous behavior in church, he appeared without counsel and startled the court by arguing he was outside its jurisdiction, never having been officially commissioned. The court let him go but suggested he give back his uniform, which advice he followed.

Despite all this disreputable behavior, he was well-liked by the people around him, especially his fellow Hawaiians. On the rare occasions when he took his allotted seat in the House of Nobles, he tended to burst out at random moments with jokes and humorous imitations of prominent figures. On one such occasion the sergeant-at-arms was called in to remove him, but the native members rose up to prevent him from being led away.

Lunalilo’s election

Within five days of  Kamehameha V’s death, Lunalilo put forth a manifesto. It stated that even though he was the rightful heir to the throne as the direct descendant of Kamehameha I (not true, as we have seen), “in order to preserve peace, harmony and good order, I desire to submit the decision of my claim to the voice of the people to be freely and fairly expressed by a plebescitum.”### The constitution called only for a legislative vote, not a popular vote, but Lunalilo expected—correctly, as it turned out—that once the people expressed their will, the legislature would not dare select another candidate.

David Kalakaua, in the meantime, issued a competing manifesto, working into it the information that his grandfather Keaweaheulu had advised Kamehameha I on how to  rule his kingdom—thereby giving his grandad an exceedingly lofty status. He called for minor amendments to the conservative, monarchical Constitution of 1864 and repudiation of the liberal Constitution of 1852. Hinting strongly that Lunalilo could be taken advantage of, he referred to “the false teachings of foreigners who are now grasping to obtain control of the government if W.C. Lunalilo ascends the throne.”+ The references to constitutional changes amounted to a swipe at his rival’s proposal for radical changes to the 1864 constitution. Lunalilo aimed to give less absolute authority to the monarch and endow the populace with more power.

 

Lunalilo is seated second to left and Kalakaua at far right.

The plebiscite was held January 1, 1873. Male citizens across the islands swarmed to the polls and voted nearly unanimously for Lunalilo. On January 8, the legislature convened to make its vote. Throngs of Lunalilo’s supporters filled every conceivable space in the building and mobbed the neighboring streets. A motion was made and carried that each legislator must sign his name on the back of his ballot. It was therefore no surprise when every vote was discovered to be for Lunalilo. Only one member abstained—the brother-in-law of Kalakaua.

The “People’s King” who wasn’t there

The new king was inaugurated January 9 at Kawaiaho Church, a large church with a native congregation. He walked there from his palace, surrounded by cheering crowds, and was received by the Household Troops—Hawaii’s standing army of 60 men—and by Coast Guard troops from the USS “Benecia.” He gave an eloquent speech in which he said, among other things, “This nation presents the most interesting example in history of the cordial cooperation of the native and foreign races in the administration of its government.”++  The choir sang “God Save the King” with a Hawaiian text that the king himself had composed. The next day the state funeral for Kamehameha V was held. Perhaps the long delay after his death was caused by the need for building a massive coffin, said to be a magnificent construction weighing nearly a ton. The procession included mourners bearing “kahilis,” enormous fly brushes made of feathers of all colors. Lunalilo rode in the royal carriage just behind the catafalque, and when the crowds saw him, they cheered loudly, drowning out the funeral band and the dolorous wails of professional mourners.

The king promptly sent his recommendations for constitutional amendments to the special session of the legislature. They were passed, awaiting  final action by the regular legislative session of 1874. There were 30 amendments altogether. The most important ones removed the property qualifications for voters and changed the form of the legislative assembly into two bodies, nobles and representatives, voting separately.

Because Lunalilo died just a year later, before the meeting of the regular session, none of his amendments were actually adopted. The legislature of 1874, under the much more conservative Kalakaua, rejected them.

At the time of Lunalilo’s reign, Hawaii’s economy had plunged into a state of depression due to a slump in sugar exports and the decline of the whaling industry. The king’s newly appointed ministerial cabinet, together with prominent business figures, felt that a reciprocity treaty with the US would give the sugar industry a much-needed boost. The situation was complicated, however, by arguments for annexation made in both the US and Hawaii. Some wanted reciprocity only and some saw annexation as the goal.

Among those  favoring reciprocity only, it was recognized that Washington would not  accept a treaty without getting something in return. The particular item under discussion was Pearl River Lagoon, as it was known then. With blasting of the coral reef that blocked its entrance, it would become an ideal harbor—the only such locale in the Hawaiian islands. Should this strategically important area be leased to the US, or should the harbor territory actually be ceded?

Lunalilo favored a lease, but the king was not a party to the intensive discussions and negotiations that took place over the next months. This was not because he was barred from participation but because he had reverted to his regular lifestyle. The Honolulu Chamber of Commerce and the cabinet, as well as US diplomatic personnel in Hawaii, were the main parties hashing out the details and communicating with Washington officials.

Over time two things became clear: US Congress, not liking reciprocity, wouldn’t even consider it unless the territory were ceded; and the Hawaiian people strongly opposed cession.  In June a long-time English resident named Godfrey Rhodes, vehemently opposed to US influence in Hawaii, whipped up public emotion by making a speech that said any cession would mean the end of Hawaiian independence. From that point onward, Hawaiian-language newspapers published anti-cession editorials, meetings were held, and petitions were sent to the king. In the end, under questioning from his ministers, Lunalilo said he could not support cession. The matter was dropped for the time being, although many still supported reciprocity.

At the same time, Lunalilo’s ministers faced a loss of public confidence. Not only had they been willing to consider cession, but they had vigorously enforced unpopular laws aimed at preventing the  spread of leprosy, as well as laws prohibiting the sale of liquor to natives.

The latter may seem odd in view of the king’s drinking habits, but it appears that in the absence of his real participation in governing, his ministers—all foreigners—simply went ahead and did what they thought necessary for the kingdom’s well-being. After August the king withdrew even more from government affairs. At that time he caught a severe cold, which soon developed into pulmonary tuberculosis. One of his doctors said, “He cannot live much longer, unless he totally abstains from the use of intoxicating drinks.” +++

While he was convalescing at his seaside getaway at Waikiki, yet another problem developed: the Household Troops mutinied September 7 over hatred for their drillmaster, a Hungarian officer perceived as a martinet. The government’s attempts to restore order were largely disregarded. Delegations of mutineers went to see the king at Waikiki; he promised them clemency if they would return to their homes. The king then issued a decree that—there is no other way to say it—disbanded them except for the band. That is, the marching music band. That left Hawaii without even a token standing army. The mutiny, if suppressed by foreign troops, could have led to violence and riots, and it left the impression that the government was ineffectual. Certain parties opposed to Lunalilo were suspected of having encouraged the mutiny—especially David Kalakaua.

Between September and the following February, Lunalilo  shifted residence several times in the hope of improving his health, but he never recovered. In his last weeks he was so devastated by disease that people found his appearance shocking. He lasted just past his 39th birthday. The end came on the evening of February 3, 1874, after a reign of a year and  25 days.

Despite the conflicts that occurred during that time, he was deeply mourned. In his will, he specified that a trust be created for the purpose of establishing a home  for elderly, destitute, and infirm native Hawaiians. The home continues to thrive.  It was built in 1879, moved to a new location in 1923, and was renovated and modernized in 2001. It has 42 beds and offers additional services to elderly persons in the area.

Lunalilo’s tomb.

* A. Francis Judd, Contemporary Letters and a Sketch of Lunalilo’s Life. 44th Annual Report of the Hawaiian Historical Society for the Year 1935, p. 27.

**  Ralph S. Kuykendall, The Hawaiian Kingdom. Vol. II. 1854-1874: Twenty Critical Years. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1953, p. 240.

*** Kuykendall, p. 241.

# Judd, p. 37.

##  Judd, p. 38.

### Kuykendall, p. 243.

+ Kuykendall, p. 244.

++Kuykendall, p. 245.

+++ Kuykendall, p. 259.

 

King Kalakaua of Hawaii: New series

King David Kalakaua.

King Kalakaua ruled the kingdom of Hawaii from 1874 to 1891. He was the next-to-last ruler, succeeded by his sister Lili’uokalani. She lasted just two years before she was overthrown by a group of local politicians and businessmen, most of them American. Backed by US Marines from the USS “Boston,” they forced her removal from the throne. Hawaii was annexed by the US in 1898.

Kalakaua was, in the end, a tragic figure,  a man not easy to understand: well educated yet naive; eager to advance his kingdom’s interests yet prone to decisions that were disastrous for his people; an advocate of native Hawaiian culture yet an avid admirer of the trappings of  European tradition. He was preyed upon by manipulative people in a manner that may remind  followers of this blog of the way King Lobengula of Matabeleland was preyed upon by Cecil Rhodes and his associates.

Here are a few highlights of Kalakaua’s reign:

• Shortly after his election as the constitutional monarch of  Hawaii, he visited President Grant in  Washington DC and laid the groundwork for a reciprocity treaty that aided the Hawaiian economy, especially in respect to sugar exports.
• He developed a close relationship with Claus Spreckels, the “Sugar King,” and gave Spreckels valuable water rights and land concessions. He became deeply financially indebted to Spreckels.
• He appointed a shady opportunist named Celso Moreno as Minister of Foreign Affairs. The appointment was rescinded, but this led to a loss of confidence in his government.
• He circumnavigated the globe in 1881 and met with heads of state  of Japan, Siam,  Burma, India, Egypt, Italy, Belgium, Germany, Austria-Hungary, France, Spain, Portugal, and Britain. He had many aims in mind, ranging from the important (encouraging Japanese immigration to Hawaii) to the trivial (receiving honorary medals from other countries and obtaining ideas about costumes and customs that he could imitate back home).
• In 1883 he staged a costly coronation of  himself despite having already ruled for nearly a decade. The festivities and celebrations lasted several weeks, prompting severe criticism from American and European residents.
• In 1887 he was forced to sign a new constitution that reduced his powers and deprived most native Hawaiians of their voting rights.
• He was a champion of the art of hula, which missionaries had tried to suppress, and of other Hawaiian pastimes such as martial arts and surfing.

I find his story fascinating and I hope you will too.

King Kalakaua meets President Grant.

Union Jack at Fort Salisbury

Lt. Edward Tyndale-Biscoe raises the Union Jack.

This is the eighth installment in a series about Rhodesia. It concludes this portion of the series. We will leave Rhodesia for a while to explore other topics, but we will return to the subject to cover the Matabele Wars and the establishment of Southern and Northern Rhodesia.

Throughout the months of contact between Dr. Leander Starr Jameson and Lobengula, there was talk about “the road,” the route by which the miners, or settlers, or pioneers—whatever exactly they were—would travel to those mystical realms of Mashonaland reputed to be rich in gold.

While “Dr. Jim” and the Matabele king danced their strange dance of friendship and repudiation, advance and retreat,  other interested parties were deep into discussion about “the road.” Cecil Rhodes was not a man to stand by while others reached a decision. As we saw in the last post, he was ready to push ahead with armed assaults on Matabele strongholds. If this had been carried out, his pioneers wouldn’t have needed a new road. The expedition would have simply forced its way through Bulawayo. But after high commissioner Sir Henry Loch got wind of plans for an armed invasion, Rhodes had to go to Plan B.

Frederick Courteney Selous, big game hunter.

In late 1889, Frederick Selous proposed to Rhodes a route that would run roughly parallel to the existing road but staying south and east, away from Matabele villages where conflict could erupt. It would lead to a place called Mount Hampden in Mashonaland. Rhodes liked the plan. In January 1890 the contract was signed that called for Selous to act as a guide along this road. Frank Johnson, the adventurer who was to have led the assaults on Matabele strongholds, would now take on the task of recruiting the 200-odd settlers. Johnson later wrote, “It comprised clergymen, doctors, lawyers (in those days, in my ignorance, I thought them a necessity to civilised society), farmers, miners, sailors, builders, tailors, butchers, etc.”* These were all men—the women would come later—all armed and in theory prepared to fend off Matabele attacks.

On January 10, Rhodes and Selous met with high commissioner Loch and other top colonial officials. Loch approved the contract; its contents were wired to Colonial Secretary Knutsford in London; he also approved. It is a wonder how a document going so far beyond the scope of the Rudd concession could be okayed by these representatives of the British government.

Jameson had been with Rhodes during the contract talks. On January 31 he returned to the royal kraal at Bulawayo. He brought along a map of the Selous route and showed it to Lobengula. At this stage Jameson said nothing about the concept of a Pioneer Column. The pretense was still maintained that these wagonloads of people would only be miners on their way to look for gold. Lobengula looked at the map and said yes, he approved of a road there. Jameson quickly departed to carry the message of the king’s after-the-fact approval to Rhodes.

On March 17, Selous came to see Lobengula, wanting to talk about details of road-building, as he needed to get moving with the project. Jameson was still away. Selous found, much to his annoyance, that the king had changed his mind. Lobengula told him he must use the old road through Bulawayo. Perhaps Lobengula was prone to agree with the friendly Dr. Jim and not with other white men who came to see him. Or perhaps Selous let drop some tidbit of information about the real purpose of the expedition that gave the king cause for worry. Whatever the reason, Lobengula had changed his mind and would not budge.

It was in April that Jameson returned to Bulawayo and finally told a sullen Lobengula about the Pioneer Column—the settlers and the police who would accompany them—with much emphasis on how the Queen needed to protect her subjects. The conversation ended without agreement about the road. However, another conversation took place a few days later. Several versions of this dialog exist in Jameson’s memoirs and other accounts, but the one most psychologically convincing goes:

Jameson: The King told me I might make that road. Did the King lie?

Lobengula (after a long silence): The King never lies.

Jameson: I thank the King. (And departs, never to see Lobengula again.)**

The Colonial Office might have found this vague assent insufficient, but right about then officials had something else to worry about. The Boers were rearing their ugly heads again, this time threatening to make one of their “treks” in the direction of Mashonaland. In fact, two treks were proposed, one by a British subject named Bowler in the Transvaal who claimed to have his own separate concession, and another by a pair of Boers, du Preez and Vorster, looking to bring 2000 of their countrymen to settle in an area further southeast. For the Colonial Office, the really troubling thing about this second trek was that its organizers claimed to have support from Portugal, a rival power that already had a colony between Mashonaland and the Indian Ocean.

Paul Kruger.

Transvaal president Paul Kruger met with Rhodes and high commissioner Loch to talk things over. Kruger was willing to guarantee the Boers would stay out of Mashonaland if the British would give him their interest in Swaziland, which he wanted for a seaport. The British would agree to give up Swaziland only in exchange for conditions the Transvaal would not accept. Kruger did agree to keep out the Bowler trek, but he would not stop the du Preez – Vorster trek, so the threat of Boer/Portuguese occupation remained. In the end, the Colonial Office decided to support the immediate advance of the Pioneer Column into Mashonaland as a counterweight against Boer trekkers.

The Pioneer Column

Unlike men of a normal military background, the folks in charge of the Pioneer Column represented wildly varying personal histories, and friction developed quickly. But somehow they pulled through together.

A Major E.G. Pennefather was put in command of the whole column, although nobody liked him: he was considered “petulant and irascible.”***  So he was nominally in charge of all the assorted parties, including Frank Johnson’s “butcher, baker, and candlestick maker” Pioneer recruits, numbering 186. The Pioneers carried rifles and revolvers, and brought along Maxim and Nordenfeldt guns. They were considered military personnel, not civilians. But in case they needed extra protection, they were accompanied by a body of 500 British South Africa Company Police. There were also 19 miscellaneous civilians, including Dr. Jim and a man named Archibald Colquhoun who was to head up the civil administration of Mashonaland—whenever it might be established. Rhodes had appointed him, confident that soon enough the Pioneers would constitute a nation governed in the usual British style. And last but not least, 350 African laborers came along to do the actual work of digging the road, together with assorted black cooks and drivers. The Africans were Ngwato, Griqua, Zulu, and Sotho—not Matabele—as Lobengula had ceased to cooperate.

Frank Johnson commanded the Pioneers, his responsibility thus overlapping and conflicting with Pennefather’s. Selous had the title of “intelligence officer,” a fancier way of saying he was the guide. Johnson, a 23-year-old who had left the Bechuanaland Border Police to take on bigger adventures, mused later in his memoir that Selous was overrated. It seems he simply envied the admiration shown for the famous man. Selous was one of those exceptional personalities who inspired respect in nearly everyone he met.

Before embarking on their journey, this motley crew were inspected by Major-General Paul Methuen, the man who would suffer a crushing defeat at Magersfontein in the Boer War. Thomas Pakenham, in Scramble for Africa, tells an amusing story about Methuen’s review. The general asked the officers if they had maps. “Yes, sir.” Did they have pencils? “Yes, sir.” “Well, gentlemen, your destiny is Mount Hampden. You go to a place called Siboutsi. I do not know whether Siboutsi is a man or a mountain. Mr. Selous, I understand, is of the opinion that it is a man; but we will pass that by…” And after some ramblings about the possible inaccuracy of Mount Hampden’s placement on the map, Methuen bid them good morning and gave them their “certificate of efficiency.”#

Paul Methuen.

And thus the caravan of 2,000 oxen and 117 wagons set forth June 27, fording the Motloutsi River near the southwest corner of Matabeleland. By early July they were proceeding steadily through the dense brush of the Limpopo valley, always looking over their shoulders for Matabele warriors. And indeed they found themselves constantly shadowed by 200 or 300 warriors, but those men never made a move.

Lobengula was in a sad position these days. When Dr. Jim bid his final farewell, the king must have realized their unusual friendship had all been a sham. At the same time, as the Pioneers and the Police assembled to start their journey, his warriors pleaded with him to order an attack. Missionaries and other white civilians in the area feared for their lives, and most of them fled. But Lobengula never did make war on the Pioneers in the course of their trek. Probably he knew, deep down, that while the Matabele might be able to wipe out parties of white men here and there, in the long run they never could win. He resorted to sending letters and messages of complaint in all directions—to high commissioner Loch, to Jameson, to Pennefather. He sent envoys to Loch to personally carry the message that “he was being eaten up by Rhodes.” After a while, these messages seemed more like wails of anguish than any threatening ultimatum.

Lobengula.

The Pioneers moved steadily northeast along two side-by-side tracks hacked out through the brush by their African laborers: their strategy was to form a Boer-style square laager every night for better defense, and with a single track, it would have been too difficult to move the wagons into position. Every night, also, they lit a large naval searchlight powered by a steam engine, and lay charges of dynamite around their camp.

On August 1 they reached a high vantage point into the open veld of Mashonaland, a place that came to be known as Providential Pass. Once beyond this point, the Pioneers could breathe a sigh of relief, as they had gone past the likely range of Matabele ambush. Close to the ancient city of Great Zimbabwe, they built another fort August 14—Fort Victoria. They reached the vicinity of Mount Hampden September 11 and sent a scouting party to select the best place for their center of operations. Finding a place with an ample supply of water, they declared it their final stopping place, to be christened Fort Salisbury in honor of the British prime minister.

On the morning of September 13 the column assembled before a flagstaff improvised from the straightest tree they could find. The Union Jack was raised, two seven-pounder guns fired a 21-gun salute, and the police chaplain said a prayer. With three cheers for the Queen, the British South Africa Company announced its annexation of these lands to the British Empire. This had no legal effect, but  it was a bit of enjoyable swagger.

For the next ninety years, the day of their arrival would be celebrated as Pioneer Day.

Postscript

In 1891, the Colonial Office discovered that the British South Africa Company had not actually owned the Rudd concession at the time shareholders invested in it. It was owned initially by an entity called Central Search Association established in 1889 by Rhodes, then transferred to another Rhodes concern called United Concessions Co. This company sold the Rudd concession to the Chartered Company for a million shares. When these manipulations were discovered, Colonial Secretary Knutsford was urged to revoke the concession, but no action was taken.

Also in 1891, the Chartered Company finally acquired something rather important that had been missing in the Rudd concession—land rights, as opposed to mining rights. It turned out that Lobengula had actually assigned the land under a competing agreement called the Lippert concession. After much manuevering and legal wrangling, Lippert agreed to transfer the concession to Rhodes in exchange for certain property in Matabeleland. But the agreement required that Lippert have his concession formalized by Lobengula. Thinking that Lippert was an enemy of Rhodes—never dreaming the two were now working together—Lobengula affirmed the deal with Lippert.

Cecil John Rhodes (sketch by Mortimer Menpes).

*Quoted in Arthur Keppel-Jones, Rhodes and Rhodesia. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University, 1983, p. 163.

**Keppel-Jones, note 21, p. 186.

***Keppel-Jones, p. 165.

#Thomas Pakenham, The Scramble for Africa. New York: Perennial, 2003, p. 174.

 

 

The friendly Dr. Jim

Cariacature of Dr. Leander Starr Jameson (Vanity Fair, 1896).

This is the seventh installment in a series about Rhodesia.

The party of Royal Horse Guards in their dashing uniforms had brought the Queen’s message to Lobengula: the “wisest and safest course” for him was to carry out his agreement with “one approved body of white men”—namely, those associated with Cecil Rhodes. And the Matabele king had remained unimpressed, saying, “The Queen’s letter had been dictated by Rhodes.”

But despite Lobengula’s accurately cynical view of the white men’s machinations, his actions over the next months would be indecisive, even confused. He changed his mind more than once about where the white men would be permitted to build their road and where they could dig for gold. And when, later that year, his warriors clamored for permission to attack the white settlers who marched in a column across his country, he held the fighters off. Was this weakness, or was it the wisdom of understanding that his nation could not defeat the Europeans? After all, he had seen the mighty Zulu king Cetshwayo vanquished by the British.

Some of the fog that surrounded Lobengula undoubtedly stemmed from his strange relationship with Leander Starr Jameson, the morphine-dispensing doctor and the associate of Rhodes. Jameson, “Dr. Jim,” was one of those controversial figures—best known for the ill-fated “Jameson Raid” that precipitated the Boer War—who seem fascinating to some, despicable to others. Arthur Keppel-Jones, a painstaking historian, introduces him in an understated way: “His intelligence, such as it was, was misdirected and circumscribed, but the main root of his follies was a mercurial temperament.”* Thomas Pakenham, in The Scramble for Africa, describes Jameson as “the charmer”—“the only man who dared laugh in the king’s presence, and the man who carried morphine in his bag.”** I have found another useful account in the blog Peter Baxter Africa. Baxter writes in “The End of the Matabele Road”: “The manner in which [Jameson] was able to capture the affections of a savage African tyrant while extracting from him in the  most cynical manner possible leave to bring the curtain down on 66 years of amaNdebele  existence, and 1000 years of native self-government, was marvellous at the very least.”

Jameson acted chummy with Lobengula in a way no one else dared. White men typically approached him with exaggerated politeness, bowing and scraping, because they believed that was the best way to wheedle out of him the concessions, permissions, and agreements they wanted. Blacks and whites alike were required literally to crawl on  hands and knees as they entered his presence in the royal kraal, and his own subjects behaved in strict accordance with their rules of ceremony. In late 1889 and early 1890 Lobengula had become psychologically exhausted by the strain of dealing with the array of whites with their conflicting claims and their dubious reassurances. He also dealt with demands from his own warriors to fight these intruders, trying to keep the peace. All through this, he suffered from painful attacks of gout.  Dr. Jim could help with that.

Jameson.

Jameson would slap the Matabele king on the back and crack jokes with him (the jokes had to be translated by Jameson’s interpreter, Denis Doyle, but perhaps this added another layer of humor).  Baxter describes how, when the Royal Horse Guards came to Bulawayo with the Queen’s letter, Lobengula reciprocated by inviting them to attend a “Great Dance” of his people. Amazingly, Jameson appeared among the dancers as an induna in a plumed headdress and a kilt of animal tails. It was reportedly while in the pleasant afterglow of this entertainment that Jameson mentioned, “by the way,” certain details about the gold-digging and the location of the wagon roads, to which Lobengula replied along the lines of “by all means, go right ahead.” He would later retract his permission.

This occurred in January 1890. But Jameson’s actions back in October 1889 cast a rather sinister light on all this friendliness. He and Edward Maund met on the 30th to talk about invading Matabeleland with an armed force. A few days after that, Jameson was writing to Rutherfoord Harris, one of the big shareholders in Rhodes’ chartered company, that even the missionaries (Moffat, Helm, and Carnegie) agreed that “we will never be able to work peaceably alongside the natives, and… the sooner the brush is over the better.”#

Jameson may have exaggerated the missionaries’ acquiescence, but it didn’t matter. By December 1889 Rhodes had signed a contract that called for an adventurer named Frank Johnson to lead an “auxiliary European force” of 500 men to “carry by sudden assault all the principal strongholds of the Matabele nation.”## This was accompanied by suitably rationalizing language stating this was for the purpose of emancipating slaves of the Matabele, stopping them from raiding on neighboring tribes, and enabling the British South Africa Company to operate “in peace and safety.”

It wasn’t written into the contract, but plans also called for the auxiliary force either to take Lobengula hostage or, if that were not possible, to kill him.

As it turned out, the series of assaults never took place. A pal of Frank Johnson’s had too much to drink and spilled the beans to a man with close ties to colonial officials. The information was passed along to the commissioner in Bechuanaland and then to his boss, the high commissioner in Cape Town, who summoned Rhodes for an explanation. The plan had to be abandoned—the Colonial Office may have turned a blind eye on certain occasions, but outright invasion of Matabeleland was too much for them to stomach.

Matabeleland map, 1887. Mashonaland is included as the northeastern part of it.

There would be no  “sudden assaults,” but Rhodes continued with plans to bring a party of settlers through Lobengula’s territory and into that promising gold-bearing region of Mashonaland. Frederick Courtney Selous, the famous big-game hunter, would guide this expedition. Through most of 1889 Selous was in fact working on behalf of competitors of Rhodes—a Cape Town syndicate—but in December the syndicate sold out, as typically happened with Rhodes’ business opponents. It is interesting to note that the hunting expeditions of the late 1880s described by  Selous  in his popular books often had a second objective, the exploration of areas believed to be rich in minerals and the obtaining of concessions.

Title page of Selous’ “Travel and Adventure in South-East Africa,” published 1893.

By spring of 1890 Lobengula heard rumors of a large force of white men being trained in Kimberley for a movement toward Mashonaland. Were they coming as an occupying force? As miners? As settlers? Lobengula sent an envoy to Cape Town, the same Mshete who’d gone to London to meet the Queen, to question the high commissioner, Sir Henry Loch. Why were the white men gathering? Was this an impi preparing to invade his country? Loch told Mshete these were forces of the chartered company gathering to guard his country against encroachment, and that they were his friends.

In April, Jameson paid the Matabele king a visit. He told Lobengula  that these were men of the “Pioneer Column,” who planned to go to Mashonaland in accordance with the concession Lobengula had granted.  Lobengula “looked pretty grave and hummed a tune to himself during the recital, as much to say ‘What damned impudence!'”###

In these discussions, it was never spelled out whether the pioneers were going for mining or to settle the land. The Rudd concession had only spoken of mining, had it not? And the Colonial Office accordingly approved only of mining activity, did it not?

The visit between Lobengula and “Dr. Jim” was their final one. They would never meet again.

Next: Union Jack at Fort Salisbury.

Officers of the Pioneer Corps.

*Arthur Keppel-Jones, Rhodes and Rhodesia. Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press, 1983, p. 88.

**Thomas Pakenham, The Scramble for Africa. New York: Perennial, 1983, p. 389.

# Keppel-Jones, p. 154.

## Keppel-Jones, p. 154.

### As reported in Keppel-Jones, p. 159.

The betrayal of Lobengula

This was the seal Lobengula used to indicate his approval of concessions and treaties. It was made for him in England.

This is the sixth installment in a series about Rhodesia.

Lobengula had investigated the white concessionaires and the missionaries, and determined that the Rudd concession was a fraud. Its sole purpose was to deceive him into giving away his country. He’d written his letter to the white Queen repudiating the concession. And now, two months later, in June 1889, the letter arrived in England.

Also in June, the Colonial Office in London was changing its position—for the second time. Early in the year, Lord Knutsford had encouraged Rhodes and his rivals to amalgamate. Then Knutsford pulled back, advising Lobengula in the famous  “herd and ox” letter that a king should not give away all that he owned, but only a part of it. The letter was being conveyed to the king by his two envoys, Babayane and Mshete, who would not reach Bulawayo until August.

Knutsford’s reversal came partly from an attack of conscience over dealings with the Matabele king. But it also stemmed from worries over expenditures and commitments that might be required from the British government. The Colonial Office feared that once these concessionaires had enticed the public into investing in a chartered company, they would leave the government to “take up the work of preserving the peace, and settling the details.”*

But now the pendulum swung back. Rhodes had been in England for two months raising support for his enterprise. It looked now as though he would get involved in Matabeleland one way or another, and so the Colonial Office might as well try to influence the details. Where exactly would the company’s field of operations be located? The Foreign Office joined the discussion out of concerns about Portuguese and German expansion in the region. In the end, the geographical boundaries would be left undefined, giving Rhodes a free hand to acquire land anywhere in vague regions north of the Limpopo (and probably north of the Zambezi too), and west of Portuguese Mozambique.

Lobengula’s letter of repudiation reached the Colonial Office June 18. Although his words clearly rejected the entire basis for Rhodes’ company, there was no response whatsoever to its substance. A letter was drafted to the High Commissioner in Cape Town asking him to give Lobengula the polite but empty message that his letter had been received and to convey the thanks of the Queen.

To make sure Lobengula’s repudiation did no harm, the ever-active Rhodes enlisted the support of Rudd’s associate James Rochfort Maguire, who had returned to London from Bulawayo. No doubt he was happy to leave behind the Matabele, who’d been angry with him, as we’ve seen, for cleaning his false teeth in their sacred spring. Maguire now presented himself as an expert on Matabele ways. Under Rhodes’ instruction, he wrote a letter to the Colonial Office. “Those acquainted with Matabeleland, as a rule, attach little importance to any document stated to be signed by Lobengula which is not witnessed by one of the missionaries whom the Chief regards as his most independent advisors.”** Maguire claimed that other documents supposed to be signed by Lobengula had been proven not to be genuine, though he gave no examples; he further said that the king had taken possession of rifles promised under the concession (false—they were in custody of agents of Rhodes), and that Lobengula was accepting the monthly payments also promised (true).

King Lobengula of the Matabele.

In late June, Prime Minister Lord Salisbury approved the granting of a royal charter. It remained to work out the details of how, for instance, the company’s shares would be allotted. The key for the directors was to select only shareholders who fully supported Rhodes’ aims. It would be another two months before the Queen formally signed the charter for the British South Africa Company.

Prime Minister Lord Salisbury.

Among the Matabele, nothing was known about these proceedings. The two envoys, Babayane and Mshete, finally reached Bulawayo two months after the Prime Minister’s decision. They gave Lobengula the now-irrelevant “herd and ox” letter and a communication from the Aborigines Protection Society urging the king to be “wary and firm” in his dealings with concession hunters. Mshete furthermore claimed that the Queen had said at their meeting that no white men should be allowed to dig for gold except on behalf of Lobengula on his servants.

Storms of fury now rose among Lobengula’s indunas and his warriors. The white concession hunters must no longer be tolerated!

Two individuals in Bulawayo had particular reason to fear for their lives. One was Francis Thompson, the associate of Rudd and Maguire—he’d reluctantly remained at the king’s kraal when Maguire returned to England. Lobengula demanded that Thompson bring him the original concession document, which was in Rhodes’ possession. All during the king’s investigations, a copy of the document was used. Lobengula suspected that the copy differed from the original, implying that the original would prove he’d been defrauded. Thompson pleaded with Rhodes to send it, saying it would be “a matter of life and death to me.”# Rhodes feared that the document might be destroyed, but finally sent it along with instructions not to hand it over “until the knife is at your throat.” When Thompson received it, he put it into a pumpkin gourd and buried it.

The Rudd document.

The other individual with reason to be fearful was Lotshe, Lobengula’s head induna. During the negotiations for the concession, he’d taken the lead in backing the agreement and calling for a friendly stance toward the white men. On September 10, he and his entire clan, numbering as many as 300 men, women, and children, were executed, every one of them beaten to death.

Thompson happened to be away on an errand that day. As he drove back toward Bulawayo in a cart, he received word of the executions. A group of warriors then materialized, telling him ominously, “The killing is not yet over.”  Thompson was terrified. He unharnessed one of the cart-horses and rode it bareback to an outpost, where he obtained a saddle and bridle. Leaving word that he was traveling to tell the news to the missionary Helm, he headed off instead as fast as he could toward Mafeking in the Cape Colony, crossing miles of Bechuanaland desert, where he nearly died of thirst.

Poor Thompson! Rhodes insisted that he return to Bulawayo, for he was the only one of the Rudd party still in the area, and only he knew where the pumpkin gourd was buried. Rhodes arranged for three armed associates to accompany him back.

The unwilling Thompson duly returned and dug up the concession document, which was translated for Lobengula. As it turned out, Thompson was off the hook. The words indeed matched those of the copy.  The king said to him, “All you white men are liars. Thompson, you have lied the least.”

It was November before Lobengula learned that the  Queen had signed the royal charter for Rhodes’ company. The news was broken to him by John Smith Moffat, the missionary who’d induced him to sign a treaty back in February 1888 pledging an alliance with Britain rather than with the Boers.

This news of the Queen’s approving Rhodes’ company rightly puzzled Lobengula. For had not the Queen written to him (in the words authored by Knutsford) that he should give only an ox and not his whole herd? The Colonial Office and the directors of the chartered company put their heads together. The Queen must send another letter to the Matabele king. A new message was concocted in lengthy and tortuous language that explained that dealing with “one approved body of white men” was the  “wisest and safest course” and assuring him that his wishes would be constantly consulted. “The Queen, therefore, approves of the concession made by Lobengula to some white men….” In a late revision, the phrase “some white men” was replaced by the name “Rhodes,” and a close associate of Rhodes, Leander Starr Jameson, was named as a representative of the British government with “the duty of deciding disputes and keeping the peace among white persons in [Lobengula’s ] country.”   In the original version, Thompson had been named as the representative, but he had fallen out of favor.##

Leander Starr Jameson.

To make the best possible impression on Lobengula, the letter was carried to Bulawayo, in January 1890, by a party of five officers and men of the Royal Horse Guards, dressed in full regimental regalia—red coats and glittering breast-plates. The king admired their uniforms, taking time to inspect them thoroughly. But when the letter was read to him, he was unimpressed. He said that the Queen’s letters had been “dictated by Rhodes” and that the Queen “must not write any more letters like that to him.”

Royal Horse Guards in the present day.

But preparations for a massive arrival of white settlers had long since begun, and roads must be dug for the many wagons that would travel beyond Bulawayo into the regions of Mashonaland said to be rich in gold.

Leander Starr Jameson, who’d been in Bulawayo for some time now, also happened to be a doctor. He befriended Lobengula and gave him helpful injections of morphine to ease the pain of the gout from which the king suffered. Under these friendly ministrations, Lobengula gave his approval for a new road to be dug east of Bulawayo.

Advertisement for relief of morphine addiction, 1900.

*The words of Edward Fairfield of the Colonial Office, quoted in Arthur Keppel-Jones, Rhodes and Rhodesia. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1983.

**Quoted in Keppel-Jones.

#Quoted in Keppel-Jones.

##Keppel-Jones.

 

 

From Bulawayo to London

Lobengula’s envoys visited the Queen at Windsor Castle.

This is the fifth installment of a series about Rhodesia.

Lobengula’s envoys and the two white men who accompanied them, Maund and Colenbrander, arrived in Southampton early March, 1889. Babayane and Mshete wore western-style hats and three-piece suits, not any colorful garb that Europeans might have expected from the headmen of the Matabele king. They were received immediately by the Queen at Windsor Castle, despite worries by the Colonial Secretary, Lord Knutsford, that a meeting would imply a promise to “undertake protection of Lo Bengula.” By chance, passengers with influential connections aboard the same steamer from Cape Town struck up an acquaintance with the four men en route and pulled strings to have them received. The envoys delivered the written message “signed for Lobengula” by Maund about the Portuguese claim on the Mazoe River that Maund wanted for himself, and they conveyed an oral message whose exact substance will never be known.

Queen Victoria and her daughter, Princess Beatrice.

While at Windsor, the two indunas were shown the spear of the Zulu king Cetshwayo, which had been presented to the Queen by Major General Evelyn Wood after the conclusive defeat of the Zulus at Ulundi in 1879. Given the close relationship between the Zulus and the Matabele, one can only wonder what they thought about that. The envoys were also taken to see field exercises at Aldershot conducted by the same General  Wood, in case the message of Britain’s military might needed reinforcement.

Sir Evelyn Wood (in 1916).

They met with Lord Knutsford three times,  breakfasted with the Aborigines Protection Society, and saw many sights, including the London Zoo, the Bank of England, Westminster Abbey, and St. Paul’s Cathedral. Before they departed March 29, Knutsford gave the deputation a letter signed by him and “commanded by the Queen” that responded to the oral message conveyed by Babayane and Mshete. Couched in an amusing pseudo-African turn of phrase, it said, among other things, “The Queen wishes Lo Bengula to understand distinctly that the Englishmen who have gone out to Matabeleland to ask leave to dig for stones have not gone with the Queen’s authority, and that he should not believe any statements made by them to that effect… A King gives a stranger an ox, not his whole herd of cattle, otherwise what would other strangers arriving have to eat?”

This amounted to a rejection by Knutsford of mining or land claims by Rhodes and the Cawston-Gifford syndicate, now being amalgamated—even though Knutsford himself had earlier encouraged the parties to join forces. He’d actually been swayed by the visit of the two Matabele men and by the growing movement in England to support “native rights.”  The Aborigines Protection Society wrote its own letter of advice to Lobengula that Knutsford passed on to the envoys together with the “herd and ox” letter.

Also puzzling and contradictory were the actions of Edward Maund. He’d started out the trip intending to use the two envoys to bolster objections to the Rhodes-backed Rudd concession, in favor of the interests of Cawston and Gifford, with whom he was affiliated. When in Cape Town he learned they planned to amalgamate with Rhodes, he continued onward to England with the envoys, his plans and motive unclear. It’s known he had communications in London with Rhodes, who had come to England to discuss the  merger and promote his effort to obtain a royal charter. Did Maund warn Rhodes that Knutsford had shifted position? Did he tell Rhodes about the “herd and ox” letter and urge Knutsford to revise it, only to be rebuffed? Maund later publicized both of these versions, but at the time, Rhodes accused him of failing to warn him about the shifting sands of the Colonial Office.

But for someone like Rhodes, these petty obstacles could be overcome. Talks over amalgamation continued full speed, and Rhodes spent the next months meeting with influential people to enlist their support for a chartered company that would extend British business interests into the heart of Africa—under his control.

In the meantime, Lobengula wrote his letter repudiating the concession, as mentioned in our last installment. He’d heard enough from all parties concerned: Rudd’s associates, Rudd’s competitors, and the missionaries.  The letter made its way very slowly toward London. No one helped him by arranging for a cable to be sent, allowing him to take advantage of that useful invention, the telegraph.

The amalgamation

Details of the amalgamation were much more complicated than an agreement between Rhodes, Cawston, and Gifford. First of all, Rhodes was not the sole owner of the Rudd concession: it belong both to him as an individual and to his gold mining concern, Consolidated Gold Fields. Rudd was also, appropriately, part-owner of the concession that bore his name, and Alfred Beits, Rhodes’ diamond-mining partner, had part ownership as well.

On the other side, Cawston and Gifford had formed an enterprise called the Exploring Company that had done considerable work to advance claims in two specific areas, the Mazoe River (which Maund had complained was encroached upon by the Portuguese) and the Shashi-Motloutsi area. It was eventually agreed the Exploring Co. would have half interest in those two areas and quarter interest in the Rudd concession.

These were the leading parties, the ones who had made big investments, obtained the most watertight concession documents, and had the best connections in England. But many other individuals had been working for concessions in recent years—these were part of that burgeoning white community in Bulawayo—and they had to be “squared” so that they didn’t pop out of the woodwork at some future point and cause trouble. Some had concession documents of their own, signed by Lobengula himself. One contender, a man  named Leask, had made an agreeement with Lobengula for mining rights that gave 50% of the proceeds to the king himself. Rhodes had bought him out back in January. But others remained—some with claims in specific areas, such as the Austral Africa Co., represented by Alfred Haggard, brother of novelist Rider Haggard; some with concessions granted by rivals to Lobengula.

Eventually, all these competitors  were taken care of. Rhodes would always be able to buy out anyone who might challenge his ambitions. The smaller men were “squared” informally with cash. The more influential, such as Austral Africa, gave shares in their companies in exchange for smaller numbers of shares in the new amalgamated company, which had the obscure name of Central Search. It turned out that Central Search was formed for a very specific purpose, which we will see in a later installment.

The royal charter

By this time Cecil Rhodes had become a major figure in southern Africa, but he wasn’t all that well known in England, and those who did know him often  spoke of him disparagingly. For instance, a high-ranking man in the Colonial Office knew of him from his Oxford days as “grotesque, impulsive, schoolboyish, humorous and almost clownish.”*

But Rhodes, patient and determined, set about enlisting support among people of influence. The social prestige of his new associates Cawston and Gifford helped him to recruit the Tory Duke of Abercorn as chairman of the company Rhodes created to receive a charter—the British South Africa Co., not Central Search—and political balance was achieved when the Liberal Duke of Fife took the post of vice-chairman. A third leading member of the establishment, Albert Grey, also joined the board. He was nephew of the Cabinet minister Earl Grey and a leading voice for British imperialism in southern Africa.

Duke of Abercorn, chairman of the chartered company .

These were joined on the board by the prime minister’s son, Lord Robert Cecil, and eventually by a friend of the Prince of Wales, Horace Farquhar. Gradually public opinion moved to support Rhodes’ company, and prominent figures in the press spoke highly of his “civilizing mission.” With the expansion of Britain’s benevolent empire, the British South Africa Co. could even help to combat Arab slavery north of the Zambezi. In fact, Rhodes spoke openly of his intention to incorporate the whole region between the Zambezi and King Leopold’s Congo. This was seen as a bold and progressive goal.

By June 1889, the fickle Lord Knutsford of the Colonial Office had swung back to supporting Rhodes—no more of this “herd and ox” talk.

It was just about then that Lobengula’s letter repudiating the Rudd concession at last arrived in London.

Next: The betrayal of Lobengula.

 

Cecil Rhodes.

*The official was Edward Fairchild, quoted in Thomas Pakenham, The Scramble for Africa. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2003.

 

Repercussions of the Rudd concession

“Matabele Kraal” by William Cornwallis Harris.

This is the fourth installment of a series about Rhodesia.

When Lobengula first put his mark to the Rudd document, he must have felt satisfied. He’d finally solved his problem of dealing with the swarms of white petitioners who came to see him at Bulawayo. Through an intermediary, he sent off a notice to the Cape Times: all the mining rights had been disposed of, and “concession-seekers and speculators are hereby warned that their presence is obnoxious to the chief and people.”*

Under Cecil Rhodes’ instructions, Rudd’s two partners—Thompson and Maguire—stayed in Bulawayo to deal with any challenges to the concession. And indeed, trouble began within weeks. There was a man in Bulawayo named Edward Maund, agent for Lord Gifford and George Cawston, a London syndicate competing with Rhodes in seeking concessions. Maund now learned of the Rudd agreement. At first he refused to believe it, but soon he was telling the Matabele king that Rudd had hoodwinked him.

Out of their discussions grew an interesting plan. Lobengula would send two of his indunas to England, in the company of Maund, to meet with Queen Victoria herself. Two envoys were chosen, Babayane and Mshete. It remains unclear exactly what they intended to communicate to the white Queen. Was it that Lobengula denied he’d “given away his country” to Rudd? Or that he repudiated the Rudd concession entirely? Was he seeking to determine which of the white men in Bulawayo truly represented Her Majesty? We do know that Maund carried a written message to the Queen that he “signed for Lobengula,” speaking of a Portuguese claim within what Lobengula considered his territory. (Portugal already controlled  territory on the eastern border, what is now Mozambique.) The Portuguese had never been to see him, the message went, yet they “claimed the Zambezi River.” More importantly, the message said, “Neither can I understand how they dare sell my country on the Mozoe River.”

It just so happened that Maund himself  hoped to obtain a concession on the Mozoe [Mazoe] River.

In December 1888 a party set forth for England: Babayane, Mshete, Maund, and a man named Colenbrander who acted as interpreter. When they’d gotten only as far as Kimberley, they encountered a serious problem. Rhodes had learned of their mission and intended to stop them from leaving Africa. His first move was to offer financial incentives to Maund to defect from the Gifford-Cawston syndicate. When Maund refused, Rhodes angrily said he would have Hercules Robinson, the High Commissioner, stop them from boarding their steamer at Cape Town. As Robinson was in Rhodes’ pocket, soon the commissioner was cabling his superiors at the Colonial Office in London saying that Maund was a liar, Colenbrander unreliable, and Babayane and Mshete imposters—not even  real indunas. Cawston soon cabled Maund advising him not to come to England, given Robinson’s strenuous opposition.

Sir Hercules Robinson, British High Commissioner for Southern Africa.

In the meantime, back in Bulawayo, Lobengula was hearing more reports that he’d “given away all his country.” A man named William Tainton came to him, an “old hand” who’d been in the region a long time and often acted as interpreter. Tainton, a concession hunter whose interests were opposed to Rudd’s, showed Lobengula a copy of a report from a Cape newspaper and translated it for him, adding a few embellishments. He told the king that the newspaper said he “had in fact sold his country, and the Grantees could if they so wished bring an armed force into the country; depose him and put another chief in his place; dig anywhere, in his kraals, gardens and towns.”**

Indeed, this was exactly what Cecil Rhodes intended—and what would actually transpire—but it was not explicitly stated in the concession document. Lobengula did not understand that the verbal assurances given to him by the missionary Helm were worthless; or that the vague phrases of the written document could be used by British colonial powers as justification for taking over his entire domain.

How interesting that the imbalance between colonials and Africans is most often described in terms of unequal weaponry—“spears versus rifles”—when it might better be described as “spoken words versus written legalese.”

The Matabele king had another announcement for the newspapers. As Tainton seemed the most sympathetic among the white residents of Bulawayo, Lobengula asked him to transcribe his words. The announcement went out: “I hear it is published in all the newspapers that I have granted a Concession of the Minerals in all my country to CHARLES DUNELL RUDD, ROCHFORD MAGUIRE, and FRANCIS ROBERT THOMPSON. As there is a great misunderstanding about this, all action in respect of said Concession is hereby suspended pending an investigation to be made by me in my country. Lobengula.”#

And so, over a period of days—for six hours one day, ten hours another—Lobengula’s indunas interrogated the whites, especially Helm and Thompson. Tainton and other white opponents of the Rudd concession argued that the document gave away rights to all minerals, lands, wood, and water; Thompson and the missionaries said the agreement only concerned mineral rights—though it did grant the concessionaires the “full power to do all things that they deem necessary to win and procure” those minerals. An African named Willliam Mzisi, familiar with the diamond mining operations at Kimberley, asked Thompson: “You say you do not want any land, how can you dig for gold without it, is it not in the land?”

Maguire, the third man of the Rudd party, was absent some of the time and not subjected to so much inquiry. But he came under suspicion as well, especially after an incident in which he cleaned his false teeth in a sacred spring of the Matabele and allowed a few drops of his eau-de-cologne to fall into it. This Oxford-trained barrister was accused of witchcraft and riding at night on the back of a hyena.

And so the investigation continued. In April 1889, Lobengula at last dictated a letter to the Queen, saying that he repudiated the Rudd concession. It would not reach London for two months.

Meanwhile, the mission of Lobengula’s envoys to visit the Queen had suddenly gotten the green light. The Colonial Secretary himself, Lord Knutsford, had suggested to Gifford and Cawston that they would have a better chance of winning a royal charter for activities in south-central Africa if they went in together with Rhodes. Both sides could see benefits: Rhodes would eliminate a competitor, while Gifford and Cawston could profit from Rhodes’ financial and political resources. The syndicate got in touch with Rhodes; he got in touch with Maund; soon discussions began about the financial details of an amalgamation. Seeing that Maund’s backers were poised to align themselves with Rhodes, Sir Hercules Robinson no longer opposed the mission to the Queen. Maund, Babayone, Mshete, and Colenbrander embarked immediately on the “Moor,” departing from Cape Town February 6, 1889. They would arrive in England early March.

Next: Lobengula’s envoys meet the Queen; Rhodes wins the royal charter.

Lord Knutsford, Colonial Secretary.

*Arthur Keppel-Jones, Rhodes and Rhodesia. Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press, 1983.

** Keppel-Jones.

# Keppel-Jones.

The Rudd concession

Charles Rudd, the man who made Rhodesia possible.

This is the third installment of a series about Rhodesia.

Lobengula had grown weary of the continuous stream of concessionists and big-game hunters who came to his royal kraal begging favors. He posted a notice at the entry point to his domain on the Tati River, proclaiming that his impis, or regiments, would stop any white man they found on the road.

Three men traveling on an urgent errand for Cecil John Rhodes did not let this deter them. They were Charles Rudd, a man experienced in negotiating with Boer land-owners about gold mining claims; Francis “Matabele” Thompson, a manager of black labor compounds at Rhodes’ diamond operations, fluent in Setswana; and James Rochfort Maguire, a barrister Rhodes had known at Oxford—“odd man out” on this expedition, conversant with legal documents but unfamiliar with discomforts of the African bush. Rhodes would use these men to gain control of Matabeleland. “Someone has to get the country, and I think we should have the chance,” Rhodes wrote to an acquaintance. “I have always been afraid of the Matabele king. He is the only block to central Africa, as, once we have his territory, the rest is easy.”*

The three men got into Lobengula’s territory on the pretence of having official business with John Smith Moffat, the missionary who’d recently negotiated a treaty with the king. Once inside Matabeleland, they encountered a local chief whom they bribed to let them pass. They sent a message to Lobengula reassuring him that they were not in his country to ask anything of him. This was a bald-faced lie, but Lobengula held off his warriors, apparently deciding he might as well receive the Rudd party, as they were already in his country.

The Matabele king was at heart an easygoing man who nine times out of ten avoided conflict. This aspect of his nature would eventually lead to his downfall.

But it took a while. The Rudd party arrived at Bulawayo September 21, 1888, claiming they had only come for a friendly visit. At that time of year, the dry season, Lobengula was occupied in ceremonies to make the rains come. “The impatient Europeans had to pass much time at whist, chess, and backgammon,” as Arthur Keppel-Jones describes it.#

Thompson at last began discussions by saying that his backers only wanted to mine gold, not to take control of land—unlike the Transvaal Boers. It was a favorite ploy of the British to contrast themselves with the Boers, whom they depicted as aggressive and greedy. Mid-October marked the arrival of an additional person key to the negotiations, Sir Sidney Shippard, commissioner of neighboring Bechuanaland. Shippard, who enthusiastically bought into Rhodes’ ambitions, repeated the warnings about the Boers and urged the cause of the Rudd party. Lobengula listened—he respected Shippard as a representative of the Colonial Office and, ultimately, a link to the white Queen across the seas. To him, it was important to deal with the Queen’s government and not with private businessmen. He didn’t realize that Shippard and his boss in Cape Town, Sir Hercules Robinson, were effectively acting as agents for Cecil Rhodes.

Sir Hercules Robinson, British High Commissioner for Southern Africa.

Many of Lobengula’s soldiers, especially the younger, hot-blooded ones, wanted him to refuse all requests for concessions and expel these pestering white men from his country. But Lobengula worried about the Boers, taking to heart the British warnings. Wouldn’t it be best to award exclusive mining rights to the Rudd party? After all, they weren’t asking for land. This would end petitions from rival interests—one such man, representing a competing London partnership, was on the scene at that moment—and it would ensure that the British would help keep out the Boers.

But then, he must have also considered, perhaps it would be better to allow these concessionist rivalries to continue? Then the king could play the various parties against one another… and so the debate went on between Lobengula and his advisors.

King Lobengula of the Matabele.

Eventually Rudd made an offer: for the concession he wanted, he would give 1000 Martini-Henry breech-loading rifles, 100,000 rounds of cartridges, an armed steamboat on the Zambezi, and a monthly payment of  100 pounds.

Martini-Henry rifles.

Shortly before Shippard was scheduled to end his visit, Rudd submitted a written proposal to the king. An interpreter was called in, a missionary named Charles Daniel Helm. The document, drafted by Maguire, called for Lobengula to concede “complete and exclusive charge over all metals and minerals in [his] Kingdom… together with full power to do all things that [the concessionaires] may deem necessary to win and procure the same.”

When the king hesitated, Helm asked Rudd for verbal reassurances. Helm then conveyed to Lobengula Rudd’s promise that “they would not bring more than ten white men to work in his country, that they would not dig anywhere near towns, etc., and that they and their people would abide by the laws of his country and in fact be as his people.”

Helm may have believed Rudd was sincere—his intentions remain unclear. At any rate, Lobengula trusted him. He put his mark on the document, which did not include any of the verbal provisions. Rudd set off immediately to present the document to Rhodes. When the tycoon saw it 20 days later, he gleefully described the concession as “so gigantic it is like giving a man the whole of Australia.”**

Within a few weeks, Lobengula began to hear rumors that he had been duped into giving away his country. Those rumors would prove quite accurate.

The Rudd document.

*Robert Rotberg, The Founder: Cecil Rhodes and the Pursuit of Power. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988.

#Arthur Keppel-Jones, Rhodes and Rhodesia. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1983.

**Rotberg.