What was his connection with Lord Kitchener of Khartoum, the equally fabulous K? What was his connection with the Red Daniel, and Katharine Gilmour?
What intrigue had he, James Ogilvie, got himself involved in by remote order of the distant Sirdar in Egypt?
*
Tall, commanding, impressive in correct black coat and grey trousers, Rhodes, standing before a vast open fireplace, greeted Colonel Kekewich and Ogilvie in the Sanatarium Hotel. The black servant who had shown the British officers in, withdrew, closing the door noiselessly behind him: the white rulers were alone.
“So you’re Captain Ogilvie. I’m delighted to meet you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ogilvie felt awkward, and slightly overawed; awkward because he was unaccustomed to meeting highly-placed civilians and was thus to some extent unsure of himself. Some of his old diffidence had come back to plague him: with colonels, with generals, an officer knew precisely to the last point of detail how to conduct himself, how to respond, how to react. It was not so with civilians, especially civilians who had both the ear of Lord Kitchener and the evident dislike of the Kimberley defence commander …
“I’ve no doubt you’re anxious to hear what’s being asked of you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Rhodes made an impatient gesture, then smiled. “My dear young man, do please relax! You’ve no need to stand to attention for me, you know — sit down, and have a drink if you’d care to, and then we’ll talk. What — ”
“I imagine Captain Ogilvie is hungry, Mr Rhodes,” Kekewich said. “He’s — ”
“Of course, of course — ”
“He’s come a long way, from Belmont, on iron rations — ”
“Yes, yes, indeed.” As the other two sat in comfortable armchairs, Rhodes stalked over to a bell-pull, which he jerked. Almost at once, the native servant appeared. Rhodes simply and in so many words ordered dinner for one, not bothering to ask what Ogilvie would like to eat nor indeed to specify what was available: there was a pre-occupied look in his eye, and there was also a certain gleam, a gleam of passion. A dedicated man, Ogilvie thought, to whom much of normal life would come as a mere interruption to his dreams and ambitions. The question of food dealt with, Rhodes brought a decanter and glasses of crystal from a corner cupboard, and poured whisky.
“Your very good health, gentlemen. And that of Kitchener.”
They drank to this; Kekewich seemed moody, with a scowl on his face. Rhodes, smiling, asked, “Is there any further word from London, Colonel?”
“About Kitchener? I fancy your personal heliograph is better informed than mine, Mr Rhodes, so perhaps you can answer your own question.”
“There is a rumour,” Rhodes said, still smiling at Kekewich’s irritation, “that Roberts is about to offer his services … he’s said to be tired of his Irish backwater and is not happy as regards General Buller’s competence. Poor Buller! His despatches have always had a pessimistic ring, have they not?”
Kekewich sniffed. “Your friends in Whitehall … do they tell you that?”
Rhodes shrugged, but didn’t answer directly. He went on, “As I said — poor Buller. He’s never before had an independent command, as we all know — for that matter, no more has any other general in South Africa. Yet — and here I quote Roberts, gentlemen — there are now more men in the field out here than ever Marlborough or Wellington commanded. In fact — double! Anyway, it’s all in Lord Salisbury’s perfectly capable hands, and I feel confident we shall have Bobs in command before much longer. And that, of course, brings me back, naturally, to Kitchener. I dare say you know Lord Salisbury will find it easier to appoint Roberts if Kitchener is appointed Chief of Staff at the same time.”
“So I believe,” Kekewich said.
“And Ogilvie … are you with me, my good young man?”
Ogilvie hesitated. Back in Cape Town, Major Haig had told him of this Whitehall background to a possible fresh appointment to the high command; but Haig had also said he was never to speak of what he had been told. He said, “I follow what you say, sir, yes.”
Rhodes gave a curious snort down his nose. “The loyalty of the military is very touching!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, never mind, never mind — I apologise, Ogilvie. But you may speak freely. I know already that Major Haig found it necessary to tell you rather more than he was originally supposed to. I’d be obliged if you’d tell me, now, exactly how much you do know.”
“About what in particular, sir?”
Rhodes looked angry. “Why, about the Kitchener plan, of course — and the Red Daniel!”
“I know only that I am to take it out of Kimberley, on behalf of its owner, Miss Gilmour.”
“You’re to take it out of Kimberley, certainly — but not to Cape Town! Miss Gilmour, I believe, will have told you the history of the Red Daniel, and of Commandant Opperman?”
“Yes — that her father saved Opperman’s life, and — ”
“Yes, yes, I see you have the facts. Now, I — ” Rhodes broke off as a knock at the door heralded Ogilvie’s meal: dinner, wheeled in on a trolley by the black servant. Ogilvie stared at it in some concern and much disappointment. It looked highly unpalatable: a hunk of greyish bread, a very small portion of meat, potatoes, and a tureen of soup.
Rhodes, studying his expression, gave a loud laugh. He said, “My dear Ogilvie, I realised you were surprised I’d not asked what you’d like, or shown you a menu. Do you not understand that Kimberley is under siege?”
“I — ”
“The military mind never ceases to amaze me — what, Kekewich?”
Kekewich scowled bleakly.
“I say it again: under siege! Why, our soldiers, our townspeople, our women and children even, are close to starving, do you not know that? Soon the meat ration must go down to no more than four ounces, and there will be horseflesh included in that! I am even now considering organising soup kitchens! Do you not also know that we are suffering very badly from disease — scurvy, dysentery, enteric fever? The infant mortality rate is approaching 800 per 1000 white and native children, and yet you look askance at your share of the food!”
“I’m sorry,” Ogilvie said, flushing. He felt nettled at Rhodes’s tone, but knew he had been stupidly insensitive. “I’m grateful enough — ”
“Oh, never mind the gratitude, just get on with it and fill your stomach as enjoyably as you can!” Rhodes turned away abruptly and strode back towards the fireplace, where he stood looking down at the two officers with a sardonic look on his face. “While you’re eating, we’ll leave the Red Daniel and you can tell me how Lord Methuen is getting on and what he’s doing about us.”
“Lord Methuen,” Ogilvie said, “is advancing to your relief with all possible despatch.”
“And pray what, exactly, does that mean?”
“It means he’s coming as fast as possible, sir,” Ogilvie said, reddening. He had formed a dislike already for the great Cecil Rhodes, and felt immensely sorry for Colonel Kekewich, commanding in such circumstances. “We have already beaten off the Boers at Belmont, and were about to advance again when I detached with Major Allenby. All that can be done is being done. I might add that my own regiment suffered heavy casualties. They are all men from my own part of Scotland.”
“So?”
“I dislike seeing them die, sir.”
“They’re merely doing their duty — ”
“And making little money out of it, sir. Not that such is in their minds at present, but I think they would find it galling to be criticised in their efforts by anyone to whom Kimberley means principally diamonds and great wealth!”
Ogilvie stopped, aware of three things: that he had said too much, that Colonel Kekewich approved mightily, and that Mr Rhodes was glaring at him with many conflicting emotions parading across his face. Stiffly he said, “I apologise if I’ve gone too far, sir.”
“A stupid young man — ”
“I’m sorry — ”
*
That night, physically comfortable as it was in the Sanatarium Hotel, brought no sleep to James Ogilvie. The betrayal of Katharine Gilmour seemed now complete, with the proposed handing over of the diamond to a Boer leader. Ogilvie thought much about Douglas Haig’s words, Douglas Haig’s promise that no ultimate loss would be incurred. He felt that Haig was to be trusted, and he knew, of course, that it was the value of the diamond, rather than the stone itself, that meant so much to Katharine. This knowledge eased his conscience but left a bitter taste all the same. As to his task itself, Ogilvie felt supremely unfitted for that. Spying: he had known all along that such was to be his mission; but he felt an extreme distaste for a job that involved insinuating himself into the confidence of a man, a white man who was probably a decent enough old farmer — not some idolatrous, scheming Afghan princeling — and then turning viciously upon the trusting hand. War was war: James Ogilvie shrank from no open fight — but honour was still honour. These were changing times, when the high command, or the high command to be, could in however remote and vicarious a sense connive at such a scheme. The facts of his mission, the skeleton of what he had to do, were simple enough: on the morrow he would meet Katharine Gilmour’s grandmother, and ostensibly on Katharine’s behalf would take over the Red Daniel, saying that he would take it back to the grand-daughter in Cape Town. This would be the first lie: the old lady was not to be told anything further — Rhodes remarked, casually enough, that Mrs Gilmour would never approve the idea of the viper in Old Red Daniel Opperman’s bosom in any case, and that he himself would see to it that no security was breached once Kimberley was relieved. Mrs Gilmour meanwhile would trust the name of Ogilvie, the man who had been with her son when he was killed in the distant Khyber Pass. Having obtained the diamond, Ogilvie would leave Kimberley under cover of darkness and move towards the Boer siege line. When challenged, he was to wave a white handkerchief, and allow himself to be taken by the Boers. He was, he would say, a deserter, a man who had stood so much and could stand no more — not an officer, but a private soldier, a volunteer of the Kimberley Regiment, an Englishman caught up in adverse circumstances whilst visiting Kimberley, visiting a friend of his parents: old Mrs Gilmour, by whom he had been given the Red Daniel after hearing its story from the old lady herself. He would ask to be taken to Commandant Opperman, saying that he had a vital message from Mrs Gilmour, at any rate one that the old lady herself considered vital, to be delivered only to Old Red Daniel in person, and that the possession of the diamond that had once been Opperman’s would be his letter of credence to the Commandant’s favour.
When Rhodes had told him that, he had asked, “What if the Boers simply steal the diamond from me?”
“They’ll not do that. They aren’t after wealth and they’re honourable men — they wish to win South Africa, not to steal diamonds for themselves. Opperman is a trusted and respected leader — they’ll not do anything to impede you, I’m certain. It’s because Opperman is an important man that he can be useful, do you not see, to Kitchener. Your task, Ogilvie, will be to find out all you can about the Boers’ advance plans — so that Kitchener will come well prepared as Chief of Staff — and then, when you think the time is right and you have all the information you can reasonably get, you will escape and join up with the nearest British force to Opperman’s commandos in the eastern Transvaal — ”
“And he’ll open his mind to me, sir, to a British deserter from Kimberley?”
Rhodes shrugged. “That’s where skill must come in — your skill in persuasion. You must get his complete confidence — I repeat, his complete confidence. How — that’s up to you. The ability of the outsider, the newcomer, to see the Boers’ point of view — in all conscience, there’s plenty in England who do! Have you heard of the Honourable, I should say the Reverend the Honourable, Edward Lyttelton — headmaster of Haileybury?”
“No … ”
“A pro-Boer, Ogilvie, in the highest degree! He believes the British to be bully boys out here — and so can you have come to believe that, Ogilvie! You’ll have heard of the stop-the-war committees, of Lloyd George, that arch pro-Boer, addressing meetings — you’ll have heard of Stead’s pamphlet, ‘Shall I slay my Brother Boer?’ Oh, you’ll be in first-class company, my dear young man — have no fear of that!”
Ogilvie looked as dubious, as unhappy, as he felt. He asked, “What about this vital message, sir? I have to have one, clearly?”
“Yes.” Rhodes took a few turns up and down the room. “The old lady, Mrs Gilmour — she’s as sharp as a needle in fact, has parried all other attempts to get the Red Daniel from her — hence you, of course — but you’ll say she’s senile, driven crazy by the strain of the siege. She believes that Opperman, the friend of her dead son, can raise the siege with honour for the defenders. For your part, in order to get out with a kind of safe conduct — the diamond, you see — you’ve agreed to go to Opperman. As a man of integrity, you’re honouring your word to the old woman — that’s all.”
“Do I take it, sir, there’s more in this than you’ve so far told me?” Ogilvie asked.
Rhodes gave a curious chuckle. “My word, and I said you were a stupid young man! But tell me — why, exactly, do you ask that, Ogilvie?”
“Because it seems to me, sir, that so far all the advantages accrue to Lord Kitchener, and none to you — ”
“Ah, except by way of shortening the war. Apart from that … yes, on the face of it you’re right, my lad! But there is something else, and it’s this: I want to see the siege of Kimberley lifted as fast as may be. The military will not move as I have urged them to move — they are slothful, dilatory, a bunch of old women with no go in them, and no initiative, and no sense!” Rhodes’s eyes were blazing with that curious fervour that Ogilvie had noticed earlier. “I have invented for your use, this story of old Mrs Gilmour’s supposed senility leading her to believe Opperman can lift the siege. A fiction? Yes indeed — yet in reality it is not such a ridiculous concept in its ultimate and ulterior effect, as I hope — ”
“It isn’t?” This was from Kekewich, and was accompanied by a supercilious arching of eyebrows. “Opperman may be, as you say, Mr Rhodes, a figure of importance and even of influence … but it’ll take more than Opperman to change the tactics of Paul Kruger and — ”
“My dear Colonel, I’m not concerned at this moment with the tactics of Paul Kruger, only with my own.” Rhodes, suddenly in a high good humour, clapped his hands together and laughed loudly. “You see, my tactics, or rather perhaps my strategy, is going to influence the tactics of the British Army insofar as my town of Kimberley is concerned — ”
“Do me the courtesy of listening, if you please. Captain Ogilvie is going to tell the Boers that he is by no means the only would-be deserter from the Kimberley garrison. He is going to tell Opperman that the troops and townspeople are in a state of near mutiny — ”
“But that’s not the truth — ”
Rhodes held up a hand, peremptorily. “He will tell the Boers all the things that — as he will say — the military have kept out of the heliographed reports to the outside world, because they do not want their incompetence to come to light. He will say that a surrender is fully to be expected at any moment — that indeed he himself decided to get out before the military was set upon by the angry mobs. You know as well as I do,” Rhodes said, smashing a fist into the palm of his hand to emphasise each hotly spoken word, “that army intelligence, however slothful it may be, will very quickly pick up such reports once Captain Ogilvie
has dropped his words into the ear of Commandant Opperman — for the Boers will undoubtedly see to it that heart is put into all their commandos by giving them word of the disastrous state of affairs here in Kimberley. And then, Colonel, then the British Army will be forced by public opinion to move very much faster to our relief, for they will never prevent such sorry news reaching the ears of the civil populations at home and in Cape Town!”
*
Next morning, Kekewich was seething still. “I consider Rhodes to be a lunatic, no less,” he stormed at Ogilvie. “Apart from the fact that I detest a man who’s prepared to tell barefaced lies — and the fact that I detest being lied about — I consider his wretched scheme to be wholly untenable — the product of a sick mind! Lunacy — lunacy!”
Ogilvie shook his head. “I don’t agree entirely, sir.”
“What’s that?” Kekewich stared, his eyes wide.
“It could work in the way Mr Rhodes expects. I think there’s no doubt it’ll spread to Cape Town, and public opinion certainly will demand action — speedy action, sir. It may well mean strong reinforcements for Lord Methuen and — ”
The Heart of the Empire Page 7