w the final attempt
to induce Kruger to listen to reason. From the shock this declaration
from such a prominent Uitlander gave me and a colleague of mine, we
understood what the feelings of the statesman referred to must have
been, and we had no option left than to suppose the Uitlanders, despite
all their clamour and affected indignation against the Transvaal
Government, would prefer the Colonial Office to continue writing
despatches than to take coercive measures. It must be an immense relief
to Englishmen all over the country, as well as it was to me, to know
that we were not expected to be at the trouble and cost of sending
troops, and we may all feel sure that as despatch-writing is considered
to be so efficacious, the Colonial Office will not begrudge the labour
nor spare expense in stationery.

At any rate, seeing that the Uitlanders have told us frankly what to
expect if we resort to force for their assistance, it is too obvious
that nothing more can be done by our Government further than courteous
diplomacy permits--until the united voice and the united action of the
whole body of the Uitlanders certify to us in what other way England can
serve them.

Henry M. Stanley.

London, January 28th, 1898.

CHAPTER ONE.

BULAWAYO, NOVEMBER 5, 1897.

This extraordinary town does not disappoint expectations by its progress
or present condition. It is in about as advanced a state as it could
well be, considering the troubles it has endured. War and cattle-plague
have retarded the progressive growth of a town that would have been by
this, judging from the spirit of the people, a phenomenon in a century
which has seen cities grow like mushrooms. It is cast on broad lines;
its streets rival those of Washington for breadth, and its houses occupy
as much space as decency requires, for unless they were pulled down and
scattered over their respective lots, it is scarcely possible, with due
respect to height, that they could occupy more.

BULAWAYO.

Its situation, however, does not approach what I had anticipated to
find. From its association with Lo Bengula, the dread Matabele despot
on whose single word hung life and death, I had expected to find
Bulawayo situate on a commanding eminence, looking down on broad
lowlands and far-reaching views that fed the despot's pride of power;
instead of which we found it squatted low on a reddish plain, the ridges
of its houses scarcely higher than the thorn bush that sur