their servants flogged whenever they did anything they didn't like; but the
other Englishmen wouldn't let him pass it. But here he can do what he
likes. That's the reason some fellows don't want him to be sent away.
They say, 'If we get the British Government here, they'll be giving the
niggers land to live on; and let them have the vote, and get civilised and
educated, and all that sort of thing; but Cecil Rhodes, he'll keep their
noses to the grindstone.' 'I prefer land to niggers,' he says. They say
he's going to parcel them out, and make them work on our lands whether they
like it or not--just as good as having slaves, you know: and you haven't
the bother of looking after them when they're old. Now, there I'm with
Rhodes; I think it's an awfully good move. We don't come out here to work;
it's all very well in England; but we've come here to make money, and how
are we to make it, unless you get niggers to work for you, or start a
syndicate? He's death on niggers, is Rhodes!" said Peter, meditating;
"they say if we had the British Government here and you were thrashing a
nigger and something happened, there'd be an investigation, and all that
sort of thing. But, with Cecil, it's all right, you can do what you like
with the niggers, provided you don't get HIM into trouble."

The stranger watched the clear flame as it burnt up high in the still night
air; then suddenly he started.

"What is it?" said Peter; "do you hear anything?"

"I hear far off," said the stranger, "the sound of weeping, and the sound
of blows. And I hear the voices of men and women calling to me."

Peter listened intently. "I don't hear anything!" he said. "It must be in
your head. I sometimes get a noise in mine." He listened intently. "No,
there's nothing. It's all so deadly still."