soldiers.

But the empire has always had poor luck in South Africa, and never
worse than on that occasion. Through no bad faith, but simply
through preoccupation and delay, the promises made were not
instantly fulfilled. Simple primitive men do not understand the
ways of our circumlocution offices, and they ascribe to duplicity
what is really red tape and stupidity. If the Transvaalers had
waited they would have had their Volksraad and all that they
wanted. But the British Government had some other local matters to
set right, the rooting out of Sekukuni and the breaking of the
Zulus, before they would fulfill their pledges. The delay was
keenly resented. And we were unfortunate in our choice of Governor.
The burghers are a homely folk, and they like an occasional cup of
coffee with the anxious man who tries to rule them. The three
hundred pounds a year of coffee money allowed by the Transvaal to
its President is by no means a mere form. A wise administrator
would fall into the sociable and democratic habits of the people.
Sir Theophilus Shepstone did so. Sir Owen Lanyon did not. There was
no Volksraad and no coffee, and the popular discontent grew
rapidly. In three years the British had broken up the two savage
hordes which had been threatening the land. The finances, too, had
been restored. The reasons which had made so many favour the
annexation were weakened by the very power which had every interest
in preserving them.

It cannot be too often pointed out that in this annexation, the
starting-point of our troubles, Great Britain, however mistaken she
may have been, had no obvious selfish interest in view. There were
no Rand mines in those days, nor was there anything in the country