Rhodesia produces much more than trouble for the Chartered Company. She is pre-eminently a land of ranches and farms. Here you get still another parallel with the United States because it is no uncommon thing to find a farm of 50,000 acres or more.

I doubt if any other new region in the world contains a finer or sturdier manhood than Rhodesia. Like the land itself it is a stronghold of youth. Likewise, no other colony, and for that matter, no other matured country exercises such a rigid censorship upon settlers. Until the high cost of living disorganized all economic standards, no one could establish himself in Rhodesia without a minimum capital of £1,000. So far as farming is concerned, this is now increased to £2,000. Therefore, you do not see the signs of failure which so often dot the semi-virgin landscape. Knowing this, you can understand why the immigration inspector gives the incoming travellers a rigid cross-examination at the frontier.

Also it is simon-pure British, and more like Natal in this respect than any other territory under the Union-jack. I had a convincing demonstration in a personal experience. I made a speech at the Bulawayo Club. The notice was short but I was surprised to find more than a hundred men assembled after dinner, many in evening clothes. Some had travelled all day on horseback or in buckboards to get there, others had come hundreds of miles by motor car.

I never addressed a more responsive audience. What impressed me was the kindling spirit of affection they manifested for the Mother Country. In conversation with many of them afterwards it was interesting to hear the sons of settlers referring to the England that they had never seen, as "home." That night I realized as never before,—not even amid the agony and sacrifice of the Somme or the Ancre in France,—one reason why the British Empire is great and why, despite all muddling, it carries on. It lies in the feeling of imperial kinship far out at the frontiers of civilization. The colonial is in many respects a more devoted loyalist than the man at home.

Wherever I went I found the Rhodesian agriculturist—and he constitutes the bulk of the white population,—essentially modern in his methods. He reminds me more of the Kansas farmer than any other alien agriculturists that I have met. He uses tractors and does things in a big way. There is a trail of gasoline all over the country. Motorcycles have become an ordinary means of transport for district officials and engineers, who fly about over the native paths that are often the merest tracks. You find these machines in the remotest regions. The light motor car is also beginning to be looked upon as a necessary part of the outfit of the farmer.

There was a time when the average Rhodesian believed that gold was the salvation of the country. Repeated "booms" and the inevitable losses have brought the people to agree with the opinion of one of the pioneers, that "the true wealth of the country lies in the top twelve inches of the soil." Agriculture is surpassing mining as the principal industry.

The staple agricultural product is maize, which is corn in the American phraseology. Until a few years ago the bulk of it was consumed at home. Recently, however, on account of the farm expansion, there is an increasing surplus for export to the Union of South Africa, the Belgian Congo, and even to Europe.

The facts about maize are worth considering. Every year 200,000,000 bags, each weighing 200 pounds, are consumed throughout the world. Heretofore the principal sources of supply have been the Argentine and the United States. We have come to the time, however, when we absorb practically our whole crop. Formerly we exported about 10,000,000 bags. There is no decrease in corn consumption despite prohibition. Hence Rhodesia is bound to loom large in the situation. Last year she produced more than a million bags. Maize is a crop that revels in sunshine and in Rhodesia the sun shines brilliantly throughout the year practically without variation. This enables the product to be sun-dried.

Other important crops are tobacco, beans, peanuts (which are invariably called monkey nuts in that part of the universe), wheat and oranges. Under irrigation, citrus fruits, oats and barley do well.

Cattle are a bulwark of Rhodesian prosperity. The immense pasturage areas are reminiscent of Texas and Montana. For a hundred years before the white settlers came, the Matabeles and the Mashonas raised live stock. The natives still own about 700,000 head, nearly as many as the whites. I was interested to find that the British South Africa Company has imported a number of Texas ranchmen to act as cattle experts and advise the ranchers generally. This is due to a desire to begin a competition with the Argentine and the United States in chilled and frozen meats. One of the greatest British manufactures of beef extracts owns half a dozen ranches in Rhodesia and it is not unlikely that American meat men will follow. Mr. J. Ogden Armour is said to be keenly interested in the country with the view of expanding the resources of the Chicago packers. This is one result of the World War, which has caused the producer of food everywhere to bestir himself and insure future supplies.

In connection with Rhodesian farming and cattle-raising is a situation well worthy of emphasis. There is no labour problem. You find, for example, that miracle of miracles which is embodied in a native at work. It is in sharp contrast with South Africa and the Congo, where, with millions of coloured people it is almost impossible to get help. The Rhodesian black still remains outside the leisure class. Whether it is due to his fear of the whites or otherwise, he is an active member of the productive order.

The native will work for the white man but, save to raise enough maize for himself, he will not become an agriculturist. I heard a typical story about Lewaniki, Chief of the Barotses, who once ruled a large part of what is now Northern Rhodesia. Someone asked him to get his people to raise cotton. His answer was:

"What is the use? They cannot eat it."

In Africa the native's world never extends beyond his stomach. I was soon to find costly evidence of this in the Congo.

The African native is quite a character. He is not only a born actor but has a quaint humor. In the center of the main street at Bulawayo is a bronze statue of Cecil Rhodes, bareheaded, and with his face turned toward the North. Just as soon as it was unveiled the Matabeles expressed considerable astonishment over it. They could not understand why the figure never moved. Shortly afterwards a great drought came. A native chief went to see the Resident Commissioner and solemnly told him that he was quite certain that there would be no rain "until they put a hat on Mr. Rhodes' head."

The Lewaniki anecdote reminds me of an admirable epigram that was produced in Rhodesia. Out there food is commonly known as "skoff," just as "chop" is the equivalent in the Congo. A former Resident Commissioner, noted for the keenness of his wit, once asked a travelling missionary to dine with him. After the meal the guest insisted upon holding a religious service at the table. In speaking of the performance the Commissioner said: "My guest came to 'skoff' and remained to pray."

Whenever you visit a new land you almost invariably discover mental alertness and progressiveness that often put the older civilizations to shame. Let me illustrate. Go to England or France today and you touch the really tragic aftermath of the war. You see thousands of demobilized officers and men vainly searching for work. Many are reduced to the extremity of begging. It has become an acute and poignant problem, that is not without its echo over here.

Rhodesia, through the British South Africa Company, is doing its bit toward solution. It has set aside 500,000 acres which are being allotted free of charge to approved soldier and sailor settlers from overseas. Not only are they being given the land but they are provided with expert advice and supervision. The former service men who are unable to borrow capital with which to exploit the land, are merged into a scheme by which they serve an apprenticeship for pay on the established farms and ranches until they are able to shift for themselves.

The Chartered Company, despite its political machine, has developed Rhodesia "on its own," and in rather striking fashion. It operates dairies, gold mines, citrus estates, nurseries, ranches, tobacco warehouses, abattoirs, cold storage plants and dams, which insures adequate water supply in various sections. It is a profitable example of constructive paternalism whose results will be increasingly evident long after the famous Charter has passed into history.

No phase of the Company's activities is more important than its construction of the Rhodesian railways. They represent a double-barrelled private ownership in that they were built and are operated by the Company. There are nearly 2,600 miles of track. One section of the system begins down at Vryburg in Bechuanaland, where it connects with the South African Railways, and extends straight northward through Bulawayo and Victoria Falls to the Congo border. The other starts at Beira on the Indian Ocean and runs west through Salisbury, the capital, to Bulawayo.

These railways have a remarkable statistical distinction in that there is one mile of track for every thirteen white inhabitants. No other system in the world can duplicate it. The Union of South Africa comes nearest with 143 white inhabitants per mile or just eleven times as many. Canada has 27, Australia 247, the United States and New Zealand 400 each, while the United Kingdom has over 200 inhabitants for every mile of line.

Rhodesia is highly mineralized. Coal occurs in three areas and one of them, Wankie,—a vast field,—is extensively operated. Gold is found over the greater part of the country. Here you not only touch an American interest but you enter upon the region that Rider Haggard introduced to readers as the setting of some of his most famous romances. We will deal with the practical side first.

Rhodes had great hopes of Rhodesia as a gold-producing country. He wanted the economic value of the country to rank with the political. Thousands of years ago the natives dug mines and many of these ancient workings are still to be seen. They never exceed forty or fifty feet in depth. Many leading authorities claimed that the South Arabians of the Kingdom of Saba often referred to in the Bible were the pioneers in the Rhodesian gold fields and sold the output to the Phoenicians. Others contended that the Phoenicians themselves delved here. Until recently it was also maintained by some scientists and Biblical scholars that modern Southern Rhodesia was the famed land of Ophir, whence came the gold and precious stones that decked the persons and palaces of Solomon and David. This, however, has been disproved, and Ophir is still the butt of archaeological dispute. It has been "located" in Arabia, Spain, Peru, India and South-East Africa.

Rhodes knew all about the old diggings so he engaged John Hays Hammond, the American engineer, to accompany him on a trip through Rhodesia in 1894 and make an investigation of the workings. His report stated that the rock mines were undoubtedly ancient, that the greatest skill in mining had been displayed and that scores of millions of pounds worth of the precious metal had been extracted. It also proved that practically all this treasure had been exported from the country for no visible traces remain. This substantiates the theory that perhaps it did go to the Phoenicians or to a potentate like King Solomon. Hammond wrote the mining laws of Rhodesia which are an adaptation of the American code.

The Rhodesian gold mines, which are operated by the Chartered Company and by individuals, have never fully realized their promise. One reason, so men like Hammond tell me, is that they are over-capitalized and are small and scattered. Despite this handicap the country has produced £45,227,791 of gold since 1890. The output in 1919 was worth £2,500,000. In 1915 it was nearly £4,000,000.

Small diamonds in varying quantities have also been found in Rhodesia. In exchange for having subscribed heavily to the first issue of British South Africa Company stock, the DeBeers which Rhodes formed received a monopoly on the diamond output and with it the assurance of a rigid enforcement of the so-called Illicit Diamond Buying Act. This law, more commonly known as "I. D. B." and which has figured in many South African novels, provided drastic punishment for dishonest dealing in the stones. More than one South African millionaire owed the beginnings of his fortune to evasion of this law.

Just about the time that Rhodes made the Rhodesian diamond deal a prospector came to him and said: "If I bring you a handful of rough diamonds what will I get?"

"Fifteen years," was the ready retort. He was never at a loss for an answer.

We can now turn to the really romantic side of the Rhodesian mineral deposits. One of the favorite pilgrimages of the tourist is to the Zimbabwe ruins, located about seventeen miles from Victoria in Southern Rhodesia. They are the remains of an ancient city and must at various times have been the home of large populations. There seems little doubt that Zimbabwe was the work of a prehistoric and long-forgotten people.

Over it hangs a mantle of mystery which the fictionist has employed to full, and at times thrilling advantage. In this vicinity were the "King Solomon's Mines," that Rider Haggard wrote about in what is perhaps his most popular book. Here came "Allan Quartermain" in pursuit of love and treasure. The big hill at Zimbabwe provided the residence of "She," the lovely and disappearing lady who had to be obeyed. The ruins in the valley are supposed to be those of "the Dead City" in the same romance. The interesting feature of all this is that "She" and "King Solomon's Mines" were written in the early eighties when comparatively nothing was known of the country. Yet Rider Haggard, with that instinct which sometimes guides the romancer, wrote fairly accurate descriptions of the country long before he had ever heard of its actual existence. Thus imagination preceded reality.

The imagination miracles disclose in the Haggard books are surpassed by the actual wonder represented by Victoria Falls. Everybody has heard of this stupendous spectacle in Rhodesia but few people see it because it is so far away. I beheld it on my way from Bulawayo to the Congo. Like the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, it baffles description.

The first white man to visit the cataract was Dr. Livingstone, who named it in honor of his Queen. This was in 1855. For untold years the natives of the region had trembled at its fury. They called it Mois-oa-tunga, which means "Smoke That Sounds." When you see the falls you can readily understand why they got this name. The mist is visible ten miles away and the terrific roar of the falling waters can be heard even farther.

The fact that the casual traveller can see Victoria Falls from the train is due entirely to the foresight and the imagination of Cecil Rhodes. He knew the publicity value that the cataract would have for Rhodesia and he combined the utilitarian with his love of the romantic. In planning the Rhodesian railroad, therefore, he insisted that the bridge across the gorge of the Zambesi into which the mighty waters flow after their fall, must be sufficiently near to enable the spray to wet the railway carriages. The experts said it was impossible but Rhodes had his way, just as Harriman's will prevailed over that of trained engineers in the construction of the bridge across Great Salt Lake.

The bridge across the Zambesi is a fit mate in audacity to the falls themselves. It is the highest in the world for it rises 400 feet above the low water level. Its main parabolic arch is a 500 foot span while the total length is 650 feet. Although its construction was fraught with contrast hazard it only cost two lives, despite the fact that seven hundred white men and two thousand natives were employed on it. In the building of the Firth of Forth bridge which was much less dangerous, more than fifty men were killed.

I first saw the Falls in the early morning when the brilliant African sun was turned full on this sight of sights. It was at the end of the wet season and the flow was at maximum strength. The mist was so great that at first I could scarcely see the Falls. Slowly but defiantly the foaming face broke through the veil. Niagara gives you a thrill but this toppling avalanche awes you into absolute silence.

The Victoria Falls are exactly twice as broad and two and one-half times as high as Niagara Falls. This means that they are over a mile in breadth and four hundred and twenty feet high. The tremendous flow has only one small outlet about 100 yards wide. The roar and turmoil of this world of water as it crashes into the chasm sets up what is well called "The Boiling Pot." From this swirling melee the Zambesi rushes with unbridled fury through a narrow and deep gorge, extending with many windings for forty miles.

In the presence of this marvel, wars, elections, economic upheavals, the high cost of living, prohibition,—all "that unrest which men miscall delight"—fade into insignificance. Life itself seems a small and pitiful thing. You are face to face with a force of Nature that is titanic, terrifying, and irresistible.