"Smith, Wilbur - Ballantyne 02 - Men of Men" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

In that vast territory Zouga had panned red native gold from the
outcropping quartz reef.

it was a rich land and all of it was his, but it needed capital, huge
amounts of capital, to take possession of it and to win the treasures
that lay below it. Half his adult life had been spent in struggle to
raise that capital, a fruitless struggle, for he had not yet found a
single man of substance to share his vision and his dream with him.

Finally, he had in desperation appealed to the British public. He had
journeyed to London once more to promote the formation of the "Central
African Lands and Mining Co." to exploit his concession.

He had designed and had printed a handsome brochure, extolling the
riches of the land he had named Zambezia.

He had illustrated the pages with his own drawings of fine forests and
grassy plains abounding with elephant and other game. He had included a
facsimile of the original concession, with the great elephant seal of
Mzilikazi, King of the Matabele, at its foot. And he had distributed the
brochure throughout the British Isles.

He had travelled from Edinburgh to Bristol lecturing and holding public
meetings, and he had backed up this campaign with full-page
advertisements in The Times and other reputable newspapers.

However, the same newspapers that had accepted his advertising fees had
ridiculed his claims, while the attention of the investing public was
seduced by the flotations of the South American railway companies which
unhappily coincided with Zouga's promotion. He had been left with the
bill for printing and distribution of the brochure, the fees for
advertising and for the lawyers and the expenses of his own travelling,
and when he had paid them and his passage back to Africa there remained
only a few hundred sovereigns from what had once been considerable
wealth.

The wealth was gone, but the responsibilities remained. Zouga looked
back from the head of the span of dappled black oxen.

Aletta sat on the wagon box. Her hair was still pale gold and silky in
the sunlight, but her eyes were grave and the line of her lips no longer
sweet and soft, as though she had set herself against the hardships that
she knew lay ahead.

Looking at her now it seemed impossible that she had once been a pretty
carefree butterfly of a girl, the pampered darling of a rich father,
with no thought in her head beyond London fashion newly arrived on the
mailship and the preparations for the next ball in the glittering social
whirl of Cape society.