EXPERIENCES BY THE WAY.
It was the 29th of April when Stanley gave his last instructions to his
Arab chiefs about getting the canoes down the mountain to Nzabi, the
home of the next tribe west. On his way he entered a magnificent
forest--the tall and shapely trees of which reminded him of his early
wanderings in the wilds of Arkansas and on our western frontiers. It was
not strange, while looking at them, that he should be reminded of the
"dug-outs" of the Indians which he had so often seen, and that the
thought should occur to him to make some canoes, to take the place of
those which he had lost in the passage of the rapids and falls above. It
seems as if his early life had prepared him especially for all the
contingencies that were to occur in his long and varied explorations in
Africa. After thinking the matter over a short time, he resolved that
the boats should be built, and having obtained permission of the chief
of the district, he at once commenced operations. The first tree
selected was more than three feet in diameter and ran up sixty feet
straight before it reached a limb. As soon as it was prone on the ground
the men were set to work in sections upon it, and in a week it was
finished. In a week more another was completed, measuring forty-five
feet in length and eighteen inches deep. All this time the canoes were
advancing over the land at the rate of a little more than a third of a
mile a day, and finally they reached camp the day before the second boat
was finished.
Things, however, had gone badly in the camp on the mountain-top after
Stanley left, for the Arabs, following their apparently natural
propensity, began to steal. One man, who had been caught in the act, was
seized and made a prisoner by the natives who resolved to keep him as a
slave. Stanley spent an entire day negotiating for his redemption, and
finally had to give one hundred and fifty dollars' worth of cloth to get
him released. It was plain that he could not afford to redeem many men
at this price, and he distinctly told them that if after this any of
them were caught stealing, they would be left in the hands of the
natives, to be held as slaves for life. A terrible punishment, yet as it
proved not great enough to deter them from committing the same crime
afterwards, as opportunity offered.
The labor of the men engaged in hauling the canoes over the high
mountain had been so great, that Stanley felt that some days of rest
were demanded to recuperate them. But as idleness was always the
fruitful source of all kinds of evil with the Arabs, he determined to
keep the men who had hewed out the two boats still at work, and set
them to making a third canoe.
The chief of this district now informed Stanley, greatly to his surprise
and disappointment, that there were five falls immediately below him,
while how many lay between these and the sea no one could tell. No
matter; he must still move on, and, for the present, cling to the river
on account of the sick, if for no other reason.
On the 18th, he sent off a man to get some axes repaired by a native
blacksmith. While the latter was engaged in the work, a spark flew from
the anvil against the body of one of his children playing near by,
burning him slightly. The enraged man asserted that the accident was
owing to a wicked charm of the stranger, and, running out, he beat the
war-drum, at which the excited natives assembled in great fury, and the
poor Arab was in danger of immediate immolation, when the chief happened
to arrive and saved him.
On May 22d, the great teak canoe, the third which had been built, and
which Stanley named Livingstone, was launched in the creek just above
its entrance into the river amid the shouts of the natives. It could
carry forty-six people. So far as means of transportation was concerned,
Stanley was now at ease--but would there ever be a peaceful river on
which these twelve canoes could float?
It was now the 22d of May, and since the 24th of February there had
been forty rainy days, and hence for the month they had been working
their slow, tedious way over the ridges and mountains, the river had
been continually rising and now, more than eleven feet above its usual
height, it was rolling in a grand, resistless flood through the gorges.
Thunder and lightning had accompanied the storms, lighting up the wild
river, drowning its fierce roar and drenching the wanderers, till it
seemed as if heaven itself was leagued with the natives and the
cataracts to drive them to despair and to destruction. The river was
still rising, and the rush and roar of the waters were only less
terrific than the deafening thunder-peels that shook the chasm in which
they were confined. Still they must move on, even though it should be to
greater horrors and more desperate conditions and a darker fate. So on
the 23d of May they set out, and carrying around a short fall in the
creek on the banks of which they had been encamping, and ascending a
mountain, they pushed slowly on for three miles over a plateau--the sick
and suffering complaining bitterly, while the well were almost ready to
give out and die then and there on the shores of the river. Every fall
was expected to be the last, and yet each proved the forerunner only of
a worse one to come.
From this creek Stanley led those of the expedition who could walk to
the head of the Mowwa Falls. Frank, whose lame foot did not permit him
to walk, took the Lady Alice, followed by the canoes, out of the mouth
of the creek, to coast carefully along down the river to the same
camping-place. In the meantime, Stanley, who had arrived first, took a
long and anxious survey of the terrific scene before him. At the head of
the falls, where he stood on a grassy plot, a ledge of rock twelve feet
high ran straight across the river like a wall for a mile and a quarter
and then stopped. From the end to the opposite shore it was a clear
space of a little more than a quarter of a mile, through which the
compressed river rushed with a strength and shout and fury that were
appalling. This wall of rock, however, was not solid--here and there it
was cut through as if by some mighty blow, making separate channels that
had a fall of twelve feet. Below, as far as the eye could reach,
treeless mountains arose nearly a mile into the heavens, while halfway
up from the mad river, that tore with the sound of thunder along their
bases, perpendicular cliffs stood walling in this awful embodiment of
power.
A scene of more utter desolation cannot be imagined than was here
presented to his view in this solitary spot. The camp seemed a mere
speck amid these gigantic outlines of mountain and river. As he thus
looked and listened, awe-struck and subdued, he saw Frank in the Lady
Alice coming through the rapids at a terrific pace. This was the first
time Frank had attempted such a feat, and he got confused, and was
finally thrown into the worst part of the rapids, and in his frantic
struggles to release himself, he struck a rock and stove a hole six
inches square into the boat. However, all were landed in safety, though
Stanley mourned greatly over the severe injury to his boat, which thus
far had escaped all harm. It took him a whole day to repair it. Two days
after, the goods were transferred below and the boats dropped carefully
through the ledge near the shore, where the water was less rough, and
reached the camp below the great falls in safety.
While resting here there occurred one of the most interesting scenes of
this whole remarkable journey. In the transportation of goods over the
mountains robberies of beads, etc., had been committed, and now the last
man in the whole party Stanley would wish to have accused of theft was
found guilty--the noble, brave, reliable and kind Uledi. True as steel
in the hour of danger, quiet, obedient, thinking nothing of his life if
Stanley asked him to risk it, he had yet stolen--not things of ordinary
value, but that on which their very existence might depend. Cloth was
getting so plenty among the natives that its value was very much
decreased, but beads were worth ten times their weight in gold, and
these Uledi had stolen and hidden in his mat. Of course this must be
stooped at all hazards and at whatever sacrifice, still Stanley would
almost as soon have lost his hand as to leave Uledi, as he had
threatened he would the next man he caught stealing, in the hands of the
savages as a slave forever. He therefore called the chiefs together and
made them a speech, in which he clearly showed them that their lives
depended on putting a stop to theft, for if they were left without
anything to buy provisions with they all would inevitably perish of
famine before they reached the sea. He also asked them what should be
done with Uledi, on whom stolen goods had been found.
The principal chief would not answer for some time, but being urged to
give his opinion said at last: It was very hard, seeing it was Uledi.
Had it been anybody else he declared he would vote to pitch him into the
river, but now he gave his vote for flogging. The rest of the chiefs
concurred with him. Stanley then turned to the boat's crew, of which
Uledi was coxswain and by whom he was dearly loved. The principal one
and the most relied on, the watchman of the boat, replied, "Ah, it is a
hard question, master. He is like our elder brother; but, as the fathers
of the people have spoken, be it so; yet, for our sakes, master, beat
him _just a little_." He next accosted Zaidi, by whose side Uledi had
clung all night in the midst of the cataract, and had saved his life by
risking his own. He replied, "Remember it is Uledi, master." Next he
addressed Uledi's brother, who cried "Spare Uledi, but, if he must be
flogged, give me half of it, I shall not feel it if it is for Uledi."
Last of all he asked the poor culprit's cousin, when he replied in a
speech that the London Athenaeum, in quoting it, said would stand beside
that of Jeanie Dean's when pleading for her sister. It occurred thus:
The poor fellow asked, "Will the master give his slave liberty to
speak?" "Yes," replied Stanley. He then came forward, and kneeling
before him and clasping his feet with his hands, said: "The master is
wise. All things that happen he writes in a book. Each day there is
something written. We black men know nothing, neither have we any
memory. What we saw yesterday is to-day forgotten. Yet the master
forgets nothing. Perhaps, if the master will look into his book, he may
see something in it about Uledi. How Uledi behaved on Lake Tanganika;
how he rescued Zaidi from the cataract; how he has saved many men, whose
names I cannot remember, from the river--Bill Ali, Mabruki, Kom-kusi and
others. How he worked harder on the canoe than any three men; how he has
been the first to listen to your voice always; how he has been the
father of the boat-boys. With Uledi, master, the boat-boys are good and
ready, without him they are nothing. Uledi is Shumari's brother. If
Uledi is bad, Shumari is good. Uledi is my cousin. If, as the chiefs
say, Uledi should be punished, Shumari says he will take half of the
punishment; then give Saywa the other half, and set Uledi free. Saywa
has spoken."
All this was uttered in a low, humble tone, with his head bowed to
Stanley's feet. Stanley could not resist such an appeal, and said: "Very
well, Uledi, by the voice of the people, is condemned; but as Shumari
and Saywa have promised to take the punishment on themselves, Uledi is
set free and Shumari and Saywa are pardoned." The moment the poor fellow
was set free, he stepped forward and said: "Master, it was not Uledi who
stole--it was the devil which entered into his heart."
This touching scene is given, not merely for its pathos, but because
these untutored natives, here in the wilds of Africa, illustrated the
principles that lie at the very foundation of the Christian religion.
First, they recognized the great fundamental doctrine of atonement--of
expiation--the suffering of the innocent in the place of the guilty, by
which the offender can be pardoned. In the second place, Uledi uttered
over again the sentiments of Paul--when a man's whole nature revolts at
the wrong he has done, and hates himself for it, it is not he that
commits it, but "sin that dwelleth in him," when he would do good, evil
was present with him. It was a happy termination of the affair, for it
would have been a cruel act to have had the noble, true, unselfish and
brave Uledi suffer the indignity of a whip.
Another scene occurred, while in camp, that shows on what an
insignificant, nay, ridiculous, thing the fate of a great expedition may
turn. One day, Stanley being at leisure took out his note-book and began
to write, as was his custom when he had a few hours to himself. The
natives who flocked into camp in great numbers daily, noticed him and
began to whisper among themselves. The crowd around him gradually
increased and began to be strangely agitated, as the word "tara tara"
passed from lip to lip, and presently, as if seized by a single impulse,
they all ran away. Stanley merely observed the fact without stopping to
think what the cause of this sudden abandonment of the camp might be. He
therefore went on writing, when suddenly he was startled by loud
war-cries ringing far and near over the mountain top, and, two hours
after, he saw between five and six hundred natives fully armed rushing
down the table-land toward the camp. He quickly mustered his men to be
prepared for what seemed an unprovoked attack, but determined, if
possible, to avoid a collision. He therefore advanced toward them as
they drew near, and, sitting down on the ground, in a friendly tone
asked what it all meant and why they had come in such a warlike manner
to their friends. A large savage, acting as spokesman, replied that they
had seen him make marks on some "tara tara." Those black lines he had
drawn on paper, he said, would bring sickness and death and utter ruin
on the land, and the people, and animals, unless the book containing
them was burnt up.
Here was an unexpected dilemma. He must burn up that note-book or fight
these five or six hundred armed, desperate savages. But that note-book,
the gathered results of nearly three years of exploration, was the most
precious thing on earth to him. He was astounded and sorely perplexed at
the strange demand--burn up that note-book! He might as well burn up
himself. Even if he could remember his main adventures, he could not
recall all the observations, plans of maps and routes, and statistics of
every kind it contained, and without which the whole expedition was a
failure. No, he could not give it up, but what then--fight one against
four, all armed with muskets, to retain it? Suppose he could put them to
rout, it could not be done without a serious loss of life to himself as
well as to them. But this was not the worst of it--with the natives
friendly and aiding him as they had done, and supplying him with
provisions, it would be almost a miracle if he ever reached the
sea-shore; but with them hostile, even if he could fight his way through
them, he would certainly perish from famine, for he could obtain no
provisions, without which, he and the book would perish together. But,
still, he could not give up that book, and he turned over in his mind
every conceivable plan of averting the catastrophe. Finally, he told
them to wait a moment, while, in the meantime, he stepped back to his
tent as if to fetch it.
All at once it occurred to him that he might substitute another book for
it, if, among his scant collection, he could find one at all resembling
it. Turning them over, he came across a volume of Shakespeare of just
about the same size. True the binding was different, but those savages
knew as little of the peculiar binding of a book as they did of its
contents. Besides it lay open on Stanley's knee when they saw it, and
they observed only the black lines. However, the attempt to pass it off
on these wild savages for the real book was worth making. So taking it
in his hand, he walked back to where they stood with ferocious looks
waiting for his decision, and handing it to them, told them to take it.
No, they would not touch it, he must burn it. Well, Stanley said, he
would do anything to please such good friends as they were. So together
they went to a camp-fire near by, and solemnly consigned poor
Shakespeare to the flames.
The natives were delighted at this evidence of Stanley's good-will, and
became faster friends than ever. What he would have done had it come to
the issue--burn that note-book or fight--he does not tell us.
The river had been thoroughly explored for two miles below where they
were encamped to the head of Zinga Falls. It was a rough, wild stretch
of water, but it was thought it might be passed safely by using great
caution and keeping out of the midstream rapids. At all events, Stanley
had determined to try it first himself in his own boat--a resolution
that nearly cost him his life. The next day, the 3d of June, the attempt
was to be made, and Frank passed the evening in Stanley's tent in great
spirits, talking and singing songs of merry old England. He was always
singing, and most of the time religious songs which he had learned at
home. The wilds of Africa had equalized these men, and they held sweet
communion together this last night on the banks of the wild river. Frank
seemed unusually exhilarated, little dreaming, alas, that the next night
his lifeless body would be tossing amid the rocks that lined the bed of
the fierce torrent below--his merry songs all hushed--nevermore to while
away the weary hours in this dreary solitude of Africa or brighten the
life of his England home.