Chapter 2
The door porter bows low. The valet jumps off the box and lowers the step so that the two gentlemen can climb in.
“Your visit to us is not at the quietest time, Mr. Atterbury,” remarks the Chief Justice. His sharp features are briefly lit by the pale rays of a lamp along the Parade.
“It seems so to me, Sir Jeffrey,” Atterbury replies. “It is unfortunate,” he adds. “I might have decided to settle here. But,” he continues quickly, as if he does not want to talk about his personal affairs with the other, “the problems you are dealing with are from the civilian community.”
“Yes,” Sir Jeffrey sighs. “Their dissatisfaction is aimed at the Governor’s power.”
“But when have they had better privileges than now?”
“It is not so,” says the Chief Justice. “The people are not happy with what they have. They are now complaining about representation in the government of the Colony. It is not practical.
The population is too spread out, the means of transportation are too poor. There are also too few educated men in the farming community. You will see that it will cause chaos to give them a share in the government. Meetings will have to be arranged months in advance. Important decisions can be delayed for weeks before all the representatives are gathered. And even then, it will be impossible to make some of the stubborn citizens agree.”
“But what about local government? Even if they are not given representation in the central government, there are surely local matters they can solve themselves.”
“An attempt in that direction has been made, Mr. Atterbury,” the Chief Justice assures him. “However, it has failed. The landdrosts and heemraden have been removed and replaced by resident magistrates, who are appointed by His Excellency. It is now possible to decide and act quickly, for the resident magistrates are personally responsible to His Excellency.”
“And the citizens feel that certain rights have been taken away from them?”
“Yes. The feeling has been made worse by the removal of the Burgher Senate here in the Cape.”
“Well,” remarks Atterbury calmly, “then I can understand why they are unhappy.”
“Do you mean that you find reason for it?” asks the Chief Justice, surprised.
“Not at all. I am just saying that I understand how they feel.”
“Do you mean that you can imagine yourself in their situation?”
“Is it so difficult?” Atterbury wants to know. “According to you, Sir Jeffrey, they are rather uneducated.” He looks out the window. He breathes in the fresh scent of the hundreds of flowers and bushes and trees in the Company’s Garden. “And now,” he continues, “do the citizens resist because of the few bags of grain that I have already heard so much about?”
“Yes.” Sir Jeffrey suddenly becomes agitated again. “The newspapers incite the citizens. That is why they become so cocky, and that is why it is necessary for the Swartland farmer to be punished severely.”
“What do you intend, sir Jeffrey?” The sarcasm is so subtle that the Chief Justice does not notice it. He also does not see Atterbury’s slight smirk in the darkness. He is not aware that the other is well aware of how the High Court is being used for the political goals of the Governor.
“At least a few years of imprisonment,” sir Jeffrey answers.
“A bit too much for the crime.”
“It is necessary, Mr. Atterbury. Everyone knows that His Excellency’s policy will be decided by my ruling. We must be strict. Once the citizens see that we are uncertain, that the Governor hesitates, they will simply come forward with impo
