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If he gave himself only six thousand and sold them each for ten pounds, then he, Peter Halket, would have sixty thousand pounds! And then he would start another company, and another. Peter Halket struck his knee softly with his hand. That was the great thing "Always sell out at the right time." That point Peter Halket was very clear on. He had heard it so often discussed.
And he gave orders that if the big troop didn't come up tonight, that he was to be potted first thing in the morning, and that Halket was to shoot him." The Englishman started: "What did Halket say?" "Nothing. He's been walking there with his gun all day." The Englishman watched with his clear eyes the spot where Halket's head appeared and disappeared. "Is the nigger hanging there now?" "Yes.
"Profit!" Peter Halket stared: "Why, it would profit everything. What makes Beit and Rhodes and Barnato so great? If you've got eight millions " "Peter Simon Halket, which of those souls you have seen on earth is to you greatest?" said the stranger, "Which soul is to you fairest?" "Ah," said Peter, "but we weren't talking of souls at all; we were talking of money.
And I thought this worked in such wise, that the law of cause and effect, which holds in the physical world, held also in the moral: so, that the thing we call justice, ruled. I do not believe it any more. There is no God in Mashonaland." "Oh, don't say that!" cried the Colonial, much distressed. "Are you going off your head, like poor Halket?" "No; but there is no God," said the Englishman.
The General was wounded in the shoulder and breast, of which he died three days after; his two aids-de-camp were both wounded, but are in a fair way of recovery; Colo. Burton and Sr. John St. Clair are also wounded, and I hope will get over it; Sir Peter Halket, with many other brave officers, were killed in the field.
Nothing could surpass their undaunted self-devotion; and in their vain attempts to lead on the men, the havoc among them was frightful. Sir Peter Halket was shot dead. His son, a lieutenant in his regiment, stooping to raise the body of his father, was shot dead in turn. Young Shirley, Braddock's secretary, was pierced through the brain.
He considered his business prospects. When he had served his time as volunteer he would have a large piece of land given him, and the Mashonas and Matabeles would have all their land taken away from them in time, and the Chartered Company would pass a law that they had to work for the white men; and he, Peter Halket, would make them work for him. He would make money.
Peter Halket crouched, looking upwards; then he cried: "Master, I cannot give that message, I am a poor unlearn'd man. And if I should go to England and cry aloud, they would say, 'Who is this, who comes preaching to a great people? Is not his mother with us, and a washerwoman; and was not his father a day labourer at two shillings a day? and they would laugh me to scorn.
"You've been in the wars, too, I see," said Peter, bending forward a little, and looking at the stranger's feet. "By God! Both of them! And right through! You must have had a bad time of it?" "It was very long ago," said the stranger. Peter Halket threw two more logs on the fire. "Do you know," he said, "I've been wondering ever since you came, who it was you reminded me of. It's my mother!
"His time's up tomorrow evening!" "Yes, but not tomorrow morning. And I wouldn't make a row about it if I was Halket. It doesn't do to fall out with the authorities here. What's one nigger more or less? He'll get shot some other way, or die of hunger, if we don't do it."
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