Mr. Thies, accompanied by an English friend and a Hottentot interpreter, appeared before the king. Cetewayo sat on the floor, in front of his four wives. He arose and received the singer with gracious dignity. After they had exchanged the usual compliments, through the interpreter, Mr. Thies went to the piano. Mursala had caused sad havoc in the instrument, but the singer did not allow that to disconcert him. He sang numbers of songs. He did not choose highly classical music, but sang the simple English ballads and American popular songs. The interpreter explained the words of each number after it was rendered. The king was delighted. He demanded to hear some of the pieces over and over again.
For the last of the program Mr. Thies chose an inspiring war song. There was no need of an interpreter then; the king recognized at once the sounds of battle, the clatter and din of war, and the cries of victory.
His eyes, grown sullen and downcast from years of captivity, again flashed, and his chest heaved. He was again a great chief, leading his hundreds of brown-bodied warriors, snake-like through the rustling grass to where the red coats and bayonets of the stolid, calm Britons glimmered and shone in the sunlight. He heard the swift rush of hundreds of naked feet, as his warriors swept down on the immovable British square, and writhed and twisted about it like a monstrous serpent. He heard the low muttered war chant of his followers, sounding to his enemies in the distance as the most ominous and dreadful of forebodings; the great wild cry of the battle as his swarthy demons dyed their spears in the white man’s blood; the yells and curses of the Britons as they went down, blanched and pale and bloody, to death. He saw the ghastly faces and gory bodies of his enemies lie thick amongst the brown grass.
When the music ceased, he drew a long deep breath. He associated closely the singer, his own thoughts of battle, and the music. He stood up and extended the royal hand. “Thou art a great warrior, oh, son of a wise father. Come with me, and we two will drive these English dogs into the sea.”
Mr. Thies modestly declined to drive his half of several millions of people into anything.
The king was surprised that a great warrior who could stir people’s hearts in such a manner would not accept the partnership. He thought he could get his people to rise once more for one great final struggle could they but hear the inspiring voice of this mighty warrior from an unknown land, whose warriors had defeated the redcoats in many battles. But he did not allow his disappointment to affect his attitude toward his guest. The musician stood high in the king’s favor.
Suddenly a thought struck his imperial majesty. He would confer upon the great stranger the highest honor known to his race.
“Hearken, oh warrior, son of many warriors, the fallen king loves you,” said Cetewayo, waving his hand graciously, “I, even I, king of the Zulus. And it becomes a great king to give honor to his friend, aye, even to as much as twenty cows. Then, oh great stranger, take Mursala, my wife, to be your wife, to follow you to the land of the setting sun and keep your hut and tend your cows until she die.”
When the interpreter put the king’s kindness and condescension into English, a solemn hush fell upon the two white men. The king and his four wives gazed expectantly.
The silence was horrible. Mr. Thies moved his feet restlessly and felt very uncomfortable. The Englishman, with his head down, laughed in an insane manner.
The king detected the giggle. He stood up and glanced fiercely at them. Was this the way to treat the gift of a monarch? His brow grew dark. He was a prisoner but he looked formidable. Standing six-feet-four-inches high, his massive shoulders and long, sinewy arms showed him to be indeed the king who had led his people in so many desperate battles. The two friends felt that it was an evil hour for them. They turned to the interpreter and implored him, by all he held sacred, to smooth the thing over some way and let them escape the royal displeasure. They begged him to make it known to Cetewayo that an American gentleman’s views on connubial bliss were a little queer and old-fashioned, and differed from the prevailing modes of the jungle elite. Mr. Thies urged him to thank the monarch heartily and say that it would be Mr. Thies’ pleasure to send a red and white sun-umbrella and a toy pistol to the king, from Capetown, the moment of his arrival there. The Englishman expressed his great desire to forward a pair of suspenders and an opera glass by the first Hottentot express. The king could not be propitiated by these munificent offers. He smiled faintly. The two friends saw their advantage and followed it up with the promise of a jackknife and a bottle of red ink. The great monarch smiled decidedly and irrevocably. When Mr. Thies heaped on, so to speak, a pack of cards and a silk handkerchief, the Englishman responding with a dozen clay pipes and a banjo, his imperial majesty became gleeful. They commenced to feel safe. The king grew cheerful and pleasant. His conversation became as courtly and affable as it had been in the first part of the interview. They considered it a good time to retreat and so made their adieus. The king seemed very sorry to have Mr. Thies leave. He inquired anxiously if he could not be counted on to change his mind about the insurrection scheme. Mr. Thies, however, assured him that no considerations could induce him to devote his talents to the extermination of the whites of Africa. So the old king bowed his head as if his last hope of revenge was taken from him, and reluctantly bade adieu. The two whites backed out the door. The last sight of Cetewayo was as he sat calm and immovable, with his stern old face set with the rigidity of a bronze cast, only the eyes seeming to say that his hope of being once more the ruler of a nation was gone forever.
When they reached the open air, Mr. Thies heaved a sigh which is said to have shaken the more tender of the young sprouts on certain of the banyan trees, adjacent to him. Mursala, mayhap, pressed her face against the pane, and bade a sad farewell as the horses clattered down the road.
Mr. Thies always speaks of this adventure as the narrowest escape of his life. Daniel, mingling in a social way with the denizens of the den, could never have experienced the sensations that the singer did, as he stood before the king and felt, somehow, that he must refuse the royal gift.
Mr. Thies returned to America safely and was very glad to put several thousand miles of water between him and the lovely Zulu. He has resolved upon a course of action when called to sing before savage kings. He will send a little circular with a blank to be filled in. The questions will be something as follows: 1—“Are you married?” 2—“How many?” 3—“Have you a natural affection for your wife?” 4—“Could any offer induce you to part with one?”
These questions being answered satisfactorily, Mr. Thies feels that he can trust himself.
May 11, 1891
[The University Herald, Syracuse, New York,
Vol. 19, pp. 128–131.]
A FOREIGN POLICY, IN THREE GLIMPSES:
FIRST GLIMPSE*
I
Lonely Isle, white sands, and green palms glimmer in the rays of a tropical sun. From the countless flowers, a heavy perfume, incense burned upon the altar of the earth, rises toward Heaven. Brown-bodied natives swarm in and out of the cone-shaped huts. In the shady dells, merry maidens toss blossoms to and fro; in the surf, young men, gaily laugh as they breast the white-crested waves; upon the beach, fat little boys play games and settle infantile disputes. A sail, a dead black upon its shady and visible side, rears slowly above the horizon and seems to peer at the island. The natives perceive the sail and gather upon the beach to discuss it. It grows larger and larger until a small schooner comes to an anchor outside where the waves roar upon the reef. A boat puts off toward the crowd of wondering natives. It finally bumps upon the beach and men with white faces step out. The innocent, guileless natives give a cordial welcome. The strangers offer valuable glass beads and calico remnants for the products of Lonely Isle. The natives accept with alacrity, amazed at the sight of so much wealth and the simplicity of the white strangers. The traders laugh in their beards and gleefully swindle the natives. They camp upon the beach, awaiting the time when their vessel shall be filled, like a voracious animal, with spoil
from the island.
All goes well for a few days. Then a shriek rings over the white sands and up to the blue sky above Lonely Isle. It is a woman’s voice. A white hand grasps her throat and as she attempts to repeat her cry, her mouth is stuffed with a pocket handkerchief. The male natives gather around the traders and their chief says quietly: “You must give up the girl, white men.” The only audible reply is: “Lookut ’is bloomin’ chieflets. Hi say, where did you git them pants, now.”
The sturdy natives gaze darkly upon the strangers. There is a discussion which ends in an altercation. There are blows exchanged. The girl kills herself with a dirk from a trader’s girdle and the white men retreat leaving their leader dead upon the sand. The ship becomes a black speck and topples off the horizon.
II
Two black-hulled British gunboats are at anchor off Lonely Isle. A crowd of natives watch them curiously from the shore. Suddenly, a signal is run up to the masthead of the foremost gunboat, a streak of fire flashed from her bow, there is a thundering roar and a shell shrieks as it falls among the cone-shaped huts of the island. The natives die around in the grass as flash upon flash leaps from the sides of the man-of-war. After a couple of score are killed in this manner, the marines land and kill a few more with the bayonet. While they are thus employed, a group of chiefs advance from the shelter of the woods, holding up their hands in token of peace. The captain of the marines who, while smoking a short brierwood, is engaged in thoughtfully prodding a writhing native, with a sword, looks casually up and observes them. The native seizes the opportunity to crawl behind a bunch of grass and die.
“Most noble king,” says the principal chief to the captain. “We have come to ask why all this wanton slaughter for a brute who had committed an indignity upon one of our maidens and thus deserved his fate. Two score of our people lie cold in death.” “Why, my friend,” replies the captain, “British interests must be protected—oh, I say, now where’s my native? This won’t do, you know. He wriggled his legs great.” The captain looks about for his writhing victim but, as mentioned, the native had quietly died behind the bunch of grass. “This won’t do, you know. I’ve been regularly jewed out of some fun. I shall report this matter to my commanding officer.”
“Most noble and powerful chieftain,” continues the chief, “you hold our poor lives in your cannon’s mouth but we would crave, noble sir, that you produce for our inspection those British interests, you mention.”
“Oh, that’s all right, old ten-pin, British interests must be protected you know.”
Slightly exasperated, the venerable chief says: “You confounded insolent, insignficant little prig, I’d like to bat you one with my war club. What we want to know is, why in Heaven’s name don’t you go away? Ain’t you satisfied, dern you? You have killed forty of us for a bloody-handed villain who reeked of no law but might. And, now why don’t you get out? We don’t want you! See? Get out, that’s all we ask. Hear?”
To this the captain calmly replies, as he borrows a match from his first sergeant and scratches it on the head of a dead native: “My friend, I think I have already informed you that British interests must be protected.”
“But,” frenziedly cries the chief, “where in the devil’s name are the British interests? And, if so, where are our interests?”
“British interests, b’gad, must be protected if we die for it,” cry the sturdy soldiery as they go into permanent camp.
III
It has been flashed to London that, “owing to the murder of Europeans it has been found necessary to occupy Lonely Isle with a British force, powerful enough to cope with the natives and afford adequate protection to foreign residents.” In less than four hours after the receipt of this dispatch, there are thirteen companies organized for carrying on commerce with Lonely Isle. The representatives of these companies swoop down on the doomed native; they improve him, they rescue him, they enlighten him, they dicker with him and they beat him out of his senses, they rob him, they convert him and when they get through with him, he has been manipulated out of everything but his blackened conscience and his toenails. He gets uproariously drunk on the worst rum England can produce, and through the storm doors of his clouded mind he has an impression that he will strike for liberty about twice a month.
He does so. There’s a howl from Lonely Isle. “Oh I say now this won’t do, you know. British interests predominate here and we must have protection you know.”
Gunboats arrive again and kill all natives in sight. After which the British government puzzles over the Lonely Isle question. “How can we afford sufficient protection to our interests in Lonely Isle without annexing it? Why it can’t be done! Of course, it can’t: the only way to advance civilization and protect British interests is to annex Lonely Isle.” “But what is to become of the poor native? He owns it, you know. I don’t see what right—” “Oh, damn the native! British interests must be protected, you know.”
A FOREIGN POLICY, IN THREE GLIMPSES:
SECOND GLIMPSE
The Czar of Russia to the British Lion in 1884: “By Jim, I have ideaovitch to cutski your throatovitch.”
The Lion: “What’s that? Oh, I say, Mr. Czar you didn’t mean me, did you?”
The Czar: “Damnovitch, if I didn’ski, by Jim!”
The Lion: “Oh, I say now, I am really sorry, you know. I didn’t mean it, you know.”
The Czar: “Anyway, I believeovitch I’ll breakski your faceovitch, you damnovitch cusski.”
The Lion: “Oh, my dear, dear sir, you are mistaken, indeed, indeed you are. You have no idea how I hate to fight when my opponent is as big as you are. I am the most peaceable animal on earth in a case like this. I will not fight unless you insist on it and knock me down three times. Forgive me this once and I’ll never do so no more, s’elp me Gawd.”
A FOREIGN POLICY, IN THREE GLIMPSES:
THIRD GLIMPSE
Chorus from British Newspapers in 1892: “The attitude of the United States in the trouble with Chile is disgusting to all mankind. Never in history did a nation of the world give such an exhibition of the brutal coward and bully as is now afforded us by the ignorant, petty, and vainglorious government at Washington. America’s policy all along has been that of a stupid, big, fat and conceited republic which attempts to browbeat and coerce a little but liberty-loving, truthful and virtuous rival. America would never dare to assume such an attitude toward a nation of any importance, but her silly, vain president seeks a little insignificant country to bluster to and strut before. Language fails us—God save the queen, b’gad.”
May, 1891?
[Bulletin of the New York Public Library,
Vol. 61 (January, 1957), pp. 43–46.]
* By permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Hitherto unpublished in book form.
THE CAMEL*
“No man,” observed my Uncle Clarence musingly, “likes to find grass in his whiskey and this is why, during all that journey, I did not allow the camel to eat anything. When I first made up my mind to travel in the State of Maine I set about contriving some scheme to provide myself with proper nourishment during the trip without shocking the delicate nerves of the people of Maine who, one and all, men, women, and children, bitterly loathe even a furtive suggestion of whiskey. As far as the frontier of Maine the camel carried on his back three cases of soda and one dozen bottles of the best Scotch. I had thought of bringing lemons, sugar and cloves for use in cold weather but I was told these articles could be purchased in Maine if the intention of the purchaser was concealed from the grocer. At the frontier, I, with the aid of a wonderful mechanism, injected the whiskey into one of the camel’s stomachs; and into the other stomach I injected the soda water, afterward hiding the mechanism in my boots since, as the mechanism had injected the nourishment into the camel, it was also to be employed in getting it out again. Then seizing the camel by its halter I walked boldly into Maine.
There was a town at no great distance and I went at once to the principal hotel
for luncheon, placing my camel in the care of the hostler somewhat to his surprise. The town was rather enlivened, and upon asking the cause of the gala aspect, I was told that the cornerstone of a new church was to be laid in the afternoon and it had been made the occasion for no inconsiderable celebration. The clergy of the whole county were to be in attendance with all the prominent laymen. After luncheon I strolled out to witness this interesting ceremony. There was a great concourse of people and a band ready to play in the proper intervals, and under the trees were long tables heavy with refreshments. On a decorated stand were gathered the flower of the county’s clergy.