THE COMPLETED WORK.
The next morning Stanley arose with a sad and heavy heart; the cruel,
relentless river seemed more remorseless than ever, and its waves flowed
on with an angrier voice that seemed full of hate and defiance.
Eighty men were still behind, at Mowwa, and the next day word reached
Stanley that they had mutinied, declaring they would follow the river no
longer, for death was in it. He, borne down with his great loss, paid no
attention to the report, and stayed and mourned for his friend for three
days before he set out for Mowwa. He found the men sullen, sad and
reckless. It would be strange, however, if he could not regain his old
influence, which, after much effort, he did. But he did not get all down
to Zinga till after four days. Meantime Frank's body had been found
floating, face upward, some distance below the falls. All the canoes did
not reach Zinga till the 19th, more than a fortnight after Frank's
death.
On June 20th Stanley began to make preparations to continue on down the
river. There had been terribly hard work in passing and getting round
the falls where Frank lost his life, but the worst of it was, when they
had succeeded, they seemed to have just begun their labors, for it had
all to be repeated again. The men had lost all spirit and did not seem
to care what became of them; and so, when on the 20th Stanley ordered
the men to their work to lay brushwood along the tracks marked out for
hauling the canoes from the Pocoke basin around Zinga point into the
basin beyond, the men seemed disinclined to move. Stanley, in surprise,
asked what was the matter. "We are tired of this," growled a burly
fellow, "and that's what's the matter."
Stanley soon discovered that he was not alone in his opinion, and though
once he would have quelled this spirit of rebellion with prompt,
determined action, he did not feel like using harsh measures now, or
even harsh language. He knew he had tasked them to the uttermost--that
they had followed his bidding unquestioned so far as he ought to ask
them, and so he called them together to talk with them and give them an
opportunity frankly to tell their grievances. But they had nothing to
say, except that they had gone far enough and did not mean to make
another effort. Death and famine awaited them, and they might as well
give up first as last. Stanley did not attempt even to appeal to them,
except indirectly. He simply told them that he too was hungry, and could
have had meat, but saved it for them. He too was weary and sad. They
might leave him if they chose--he had his boat still, and if he was
left alone he had but to step into it--the falls were near, and he would
soon be at rest with his friend. It is most pitiful and sad to see how
the indomitable will of this strong man had given way. The bold and
confident manner with which he set out from Nyangwe--the healthy, cheery
tone in which he addressed them when bowed down with grief at the
farewell song of Tipo-tipo's Arabs are gone, and in their place had come
a great weariness and despair. To see such a strong man forced at last
to yield, awakens the deepest sympathy. No wonder he was weary of life,
and longed to die. Under his terrible mental and physical strain of the
last six months the toughest nature must give way, while to this was
added the feebleness that comes from want of food and the utterly
dreary, hopeless prospect before him. As he stood amid his dusky
followers, his once sinewy frame looked lean and languid, and his voice
had a weary, despairing tone. The star of fame that had led him on was
gone down, and life itself had lost all its brightness, and when he had
done speaking he turned away indifferent as to the future. The men
listened, but their hungry, despairing hearts felt no sympathy. They too
had reached the point of indifference as to the future, except they
would no longer cling to that cruel river, and thirty-one packed their
baggage and filed away up the ascent and were soon lost to view. When it
was told to Stanley, he inquired how many had gone. Learning that only
thirty-one had left, and that the rest would stand by him to the last,
he roused himself, and unwilling that the faithful should perish through
the disaffection of a few men he sent messengers after the deserters to
plead with them to come back. They overtook them five miles away and
urged them to return, but in vain. Setting the faithful to work, he
dispatched two men to cut off the fugitives and to tell the chiefs not
to let them pass through their territory. They obeyed and beat the
war-drum, which so terrified the wanderers that they were glad to
return. It would seem strange that men who have been accustomed to obey
him implicitly for nearly three years, and had stood by him so staunchly
in many a fight and through countless perils, could so easily desert him
now. But despair will make even a wise man mad, and these poor creatures
had got into that hopeless condition which makes all men reckless.
Starting off with no definite aim in view, no point to travel toward,
shows how desperate they had become. No wonder they saw no hope in
clinging to the river, for they had now been over a month going three
miles, and it seemed worse than useless to attempt to push further in
that direction.
On the 23d of June, the work of hauling out the canoes to take them over
a hill two hundred feet high was commenced, and by noon three were
safely on the summit. Next came the Livingstone, which had been recently
made. It weighed some three tons, yet, with the aid of a hundred and
fifty natives, they had succeeded in getting it twenty feet up the bank,
when the cables parted and it shot swiftly back into the river. The
chief carpenter clung to it, and being carried beyond his depth, climbed
into it. He was only a short distance above the falls when the brave
Uledi, seeing his peril, plunged into the river and swimming to the
boat, called out to him to leap overboard instantly. The poor wretch
replied that he could not swim. "Jump," shouted Uledi, "you are drifting
toward the cataract." The terrified creature, as he cowered in the
canoe, faltered out, "I am afraid to." "Well, then," said Uledi, "you
are lost--brother, good-bye," and struck out with all his might for the
shore. A minute's longer delay, and he, too, would have been lost, for,
though a strong swimmer, he was able, only by the most desperate effort,
to reach shore less than sixty feet from the brink of the falls. The
next minute the canoe was shooting over them into the boiling cauldron
below. Tossed up and down and whirled about, it finally went down and
was seen no more.
The next day the other boats were hauled up and then the process of
letting them down commenced. This was done in safety, when the goods
were sent overland to the Mbelo Falls beyond, while the boats should
attempt to run the rapids There was no abrupt descent, but a wild waste
of tumbling, roaring water dashing against the cliffs and rocks in
reckless fury. Stanley resolved to try them before risking his men, and
embarking in the Lady Alice, with men on shore holding cables attached
to bow and stern, he drifted slowly downward amid the rocks. The little
boat seemed a mere toy amid the awful surroundings in which it floated,
and Stanley realized as it rocked beneath him what a helpless thing it
would be in the wild and turbulent midstream. Just as he reached the
most dangerous point, one of the cables parted. The boat swung to, when
the other snapped asunder and the frightened thing was borne like a
bubble into the boiling surge and carried downward like an arrow. Down,
down, between the frowning precipices, now barely escaping a huge rock
and now lifted like a feather on the top of a wave it swept on,
apparently to certain destruction. But death had lost all its terrors to
these hard-hunted men, and the six in the boat sat resigned to their
fate. The brave Uledi, however, kept his hand on the helm and his steady
eye on the hell of waters around and before them. Sometimes caught in a
whirlpool that tossed them around and around, and then springing like a
panther down a steep incline, the boat continued to plunge on its mad
course with death on every side, until at last it shot into the Niguru
basin, when they rowed to the sandy beach of Kilanga. Here, amid the
rocks, they found the broken boat in which Pocoke went down, and the
body of one of the men who was drowned with him jammed among the
fragments.
Stanley looked back on this perilous ride with strange feelings. It
seemed as if fate, while trying him to the utmost, was determined he
should not perish, but that he should fulfill the great mission he had
undertaken. His people seemed to think so too, for when they saw his
boat break adrift and launch into the boiling rapids they gave him up
for lost; but when they caught sight of him coming toward them alive and
well, they gave way to extravagant joy and exclaimed, "it is the hand of
God--we shall reach the sea." The escape was so wonderful, almost
miraculous, that they could not but believe that God had spared him to
save them all.
They now pushed on with little trouble to Mpakambendi, the terminus of
the chasm ninety-three miles long, in which they had been struggling a
hundred and seventeen days. This simple statement conveys very little to
the ear, yet what fearful shapes does it conjure up to the imagination!
Ninety-three miles of rapids and cataracts, with only here and there a
stretch of smooth water! A mile and a quarter a day was all the progress
they had made now for nearly four months. No wonder the poor Arabs gave
up in despair and refused any longer to follow the river.
[Illustration: SHOOTING THE RAPIDS.]
Although below the chasm the stream did not flow with that placidity it
did through the cannibal region, still it did not present any dangerous
rapids, as they glided on toward the sea with new hopes. The natives
along the banks were friendly, though difficulties were constantly
arising from the thieving propensities of the Arabs. Two were seized by
the natives, and Stanley had nearly to bankrupt himself to redeem them,
on which he gave the men a talk and told them plainly that this was
positively the last time he would redeem a single prisoner seized for
theft, nor would he resort to force to rescue him.
It was now the 7th day of July, and although hope had revived in the
hearts of the people, some of the sick felt that they should never see
their native island again. Two died this day and were buried on the
banks of the river whose course they had followed so long. They now had
clear, though not smooth sailing for some nine or ten miles, when they
came to another fall. This was passed in safety, with the assistance of
the natives, who assembled in great numbers and volunteered their
services, for which they were liberally rewarded. More or less broken
water was experienced, but not bad enough to arrest the progress of the
boats. Provisions were getting scarce, and consequently the thieving
propensity of the Arabs to obtain them more actively exhibited itself,
and one man, caught while digging up roots in a garden, was held as a
prisoner. The men asked his release, but Stanley, finding that the price
which the natives asked for his redemption was far greater than his
means to pay, would not interfere and the man was left to live and die
in perpetual slavery. But this did not stop thieving, and soon another
man was caught in the act and made prisoner. This case was submitted to
the chiefs, and their decision was to let him remain in slavery. But the
men were starving, and even this terrible exhibition of the doom that
awaited them was not sufficient to deter the men from stealing food. The
demands of the stomach overrode all fears of punishment, and three or
four days after another man was detected and made a prisoner. He, too,
was left a slave in the hands of the natives. Dangerous rapids were now
and then encountered, but they were passed without accident, and Stanley
at last found that he was close to the sea. He announced the fact to his
people, who were intensely excited at the news. One man, a boatman, went
crazy over it, and, shouting "we have reached the sea, we are at home,"
rushed into the woods and was never seen again. The poor wretch,
probably, lay down at last in the forest, with the groves of Zanzibar,
in imagination, just ahead of him. Sweeping downward, frequent rapids
occurred, but the expedition kept on until it reached the district of
Kilolo.
Stanley here lay down weary and hungry, but was aroused by musket-shots.
His people, starving and desperate, had scattered about, entering every
garden they saw to get something to eat, and the natives had attacked
them. Soon wounded men were brought in, whom the natives had shot.
Several had been captured whom Stanley refused to redeem, and they were
left to pine in endless captivity, never again to see the hills of
Zanzibar, as he over and over again had promised they should.
Changing from bank to bank, as the character of the river changed, the
expedition, on the 30th of July, heard in advance the roar of the
cataract of Isingila. Here Stanley ascertained that they were but five
days' journey from Embomma, a distance always traveled by land by the
natives, on account of the obstructions in the river.
As the whole object of the expedition had been accomplished and the
short distance beyond these falls to the sea was known to Europeans, he
resolved to leave the river and march by land to Embomma. At sunset the
Lady Alice was drawn out of the water to the top of some rocks and
abandoned forever. To Stanley it was like leaving a friend behind. The
boat had been his companion for nearly three years. It had carried him
over the waters of the lakes, dashed at his bidding among hostile
canoes, rocked him to sleep amid the storms, borne him all safely over
foaming cataracts, and now it must be left ignobly to rot in the wilds
of Africa. As he turned to cast a last farewell glance on it resting
mournfully on the rocks, the poor boat had almost a human look, as if it
knew it was to be left behind and abandoned forever.
On the 1st of August, the famished, weary column took up its line of
march towards the sea--the mothers carrying infants that had been born
amid the cataracts, and the larger children trudging slowly after.
Nearly forty of the one hundred and fifteen were sick, and though it was
painful to travel, they were cheered by the promise that in four or five
days they should once more look on the sea, towards which their longing
hearts had been turned for so many weary months. Coming to a village,
the king stopped them and told them they could not pass without they
gave him a bottle of rum. Uledi, hastening up, asked Stanley what the
old man wanted. "Rum," he replied. Hitting him a severe slap in the
face, "there is rum for him," growled Uledi, as the drunken negro
tumbled over. The latter picked himself up and hurried away, and Stanley
and his worn and wasted band passed on without further molestation. It
was hard to get food, for one party would demand rum and refuse to
furnish it without, while another wanted them to wait till the next
market-day.
On the third day they reached Nsanda, the king of which told Stanley it
was but three days' march to the sea. The latter asked him if he would
carry a letter to Embomma for him. He replied no, but after four hours
of hard urging he agreed to furnish guides for three of Stanley's men.
The next day they set out, carrying the following letter:--
VILLAGE NSANDA, August 4th, 1877.
_To any gentleman who speaks English at Embomma_:
DEAR SIR: I have arrived at this place from Zanzibar with one
hundred and fifteen souls, men, women and children. We are now in a
state of imminent starvation. We can buy nothing from the natives,
for they laugh at our kinds of cloth, beads and wire. There are no
provisions in the country that may be purchased except on
market-days, and starving people cannot afford to wait for these
markets. I therefore have made bold to dispatch three of my young
men, natives of Zanzibar, with a boy named Robert Ferugi of the
English mission at Zanzibar, with this letter, craving relief from
you. I do not know you, but I am told there is an Englishman at
Embomma, and as you are a Christian and a gentleman, I beg of you
not to disregard my request. The boy Robert will be better able to
describe our condition than I can tell you in a letter. We are in a
state of the greatest distress, but, if your supplies arrive in
time, I may be able to reach Embomma in four days. I want three
hundred cloths, each four yards long, of such quality as you trade
with, which is very different from that we have; but better than
all would be ten or fifteen man-loads of rice or grain to fill
their pinched bellies immediately, as even with the cloths it would
require time to purchase food, and starving men cannot wait. The
supplies must arrive within two days, or I may have a fearful time
of it among the dying. Of course I hold myself responsible for any
expense you may incur in this business. What is wanted is immediate
relief, and I pray you to use your utmost energies to forward it at
once. For myself if you have such little luxuries as tea, coffee,
sugar and biscuits by you, such as one man can easily carry, I beg
you, on my own behalf, that you will send a small supply, and add
to the great debt of gratitude due to you upon the timely arrival
of supplies for my people. Until that time, I beg you to believe
me,
Yours, sincerely,
H. M. STANLEY,
_Commanding Anglo-American Expedition,
for Exploration of Africa_.
P. S.--You may not know my name; I therefore add, I am the person
that discovered Livingstone.
H. M. S.
After writing this letter, Stanley called his chiefs and boat's crew to
his tent and told them of his purpose to send a letter to Embomma for
relief, and wanted to know which were the most reliable men--would
travel fastest and least likely to be arrested or turned back by
obstacles. The ever-ready Uledi sprang to his feet and exclaimed, as he
tightened his belt, "O master, I am ready now!" The other volunteers
responded as quickly, and the next day, the guides appearing, they
started off. In the meantime, the expedition resumed its slow march,
having eaten nothing but a few nuts to stay their stomachs. Coming to a
village, the chief demanded payment for passing through his country, and
armed his followers; but on Stanley threatening to destroy every man in
the place, his rage subsided, he shook hands, and peace was made and
sealed by a drink of palm wine and the promise of a bottle of rum.
In the meanwhile, Uledi and his companions pressed swiftly on, but when
about halfway the guides, becoming frightened, deserted them. Unable to
obtain others, they resolved to follow the Congo. All day long they
pressed steadily forward, and, just after sunset, reached Boma, to which
the name Embomma had been changed, and delivered the letter. The poor
fellows had not tasted food for thirty hours, and were well-nigh
famished. They soon had abundance, and the next morning (August 6th),
while Stanley was leading on his bloated, haggard, half-starved,
staggering men, women and children, Uledi started back with carriers
loaded down with provisions.
At nine o'clock, the expedition had to stop and rest. While they lay
scattered about on the green sward, suddenly an Arab boy shouted, "I
see Uledi coming down the hill!" and sure enough there were Uledi and
Kacheche leaping down the slope and waving their arms in the air. "La il
Allah, il Allah!" went up in one wild shout--"we are saved, thank God!"
Uledi had brought a letter to Stanley, who had scarcely finished reading
it when the carriers appeared in sight laden with provisions. The sick
and lame struggled to their feet and, with the others, pressed around
them. While Stanley was distributing them, one of the boat-boys struck
up a triumphant song, that echoed far over the plain. They then set to
and ate as only starving men can eat.
When all were supplied, Stanley turned to his tent, to open the private
packages sent to him. Heavens! what a vision met his astonished sight! A
few hours before, he had made his breakfast on a few green bananas and
peanuts, washed with a cup of muddy water, and now before him were piled
champagne, port and sherry wines, and ale, and bread and butter, and
tea, and sugar, and plum-pudding, and various kinds of jam--in short,
enough luxuries to supply half a regiment. How Stanley felt that night
as he looked on his happy, contented followers, may be gathered from the
following extract from a letter he sent back next day to his
kind-hearted deliverers. After acknowledging the reception of the
bountiful supplies, he says:
"Dear Sirs--Though strangers I feel we shall be great friends, and
it will be the study of my lifetime to remember my feelings of
gratefulness when I first caught sight of your supplies, and my
poor faithful and brave people cried out, 'Master, we are
saved--food is coming!' The old and the young men, the women and
the children lifted their wearied and worn-out frames and began
lustily to chant an extemporaneous song in honor of the white
people by the great salt sea (the Atlantic), who had listened to
their prayers. I had to rush to my tent to hide the tears that
would come, despite all my attempts at composure.
"Gentlemen, that the blessing of God may attend your footsteps,
whithersoever you go, is the very earnest prayer of
"Yours faithfully,
"HENRY M. STANLEY."
That day was given up to feasting and rejoicing, and the next morning--a
very different set of men--they started forward. All this and the next
day they marched cheerfully over the rolling country, and on the third,
while slowly descending a hill, they saw a string of hammocks
approaching, and soon Stanley stood face to face with four white men,
and so long had he been shut up in a country of blacks that they
impressed him strangely. After some time spent in conversation they
insisted on his getting into a hammock, and borne by eight stout bearers
he was carried into Boma, where rest and abundance awaited him. He
stayed in this village of a hundred huts only one day and then embarked
on a steamer for the mouth of the river, a hundred or more miles away.
Turning northward he reached Kabinda, where one of the expedition died.
The reaction on these poor creatures after their long and desperate
struggle was great, and they fell back into a sort of stupor. Stanley
himself felt its influence and would fall asleep while eating. The sense
of responsibility, however, aroused him and he attempted in turn to
arouse his men. But, notwithstanding all his efforts, four died of this
malady without a name after he reached Loanda, and three more afterwards
on board the vessel that carried them to Cape Town.
Stanley gave his poor followers eight days' rest at Kabinda and then in
a Portuguese vessel proceeded to Loanda. Here the governor-general
offered to send him in a gun-boat to Lisbon. This generous offer was
very tempting, and many would have accepted it, but Stanley would not
leave his Arab friends who had shared his toils and hardships, and shown
an unbounded trust in his promise to see them back to Zanzibar. A
passage being offered them in the British ship _Industry_, to Cape Town,
Stanley accepted it, and, instead of going home where comfort and fame
awaited him, turned southward with his Arab followers. At Cape Town he
was received with every mark of distinction, and delivered a lecture
there giving a brief account of the expedition, especially that part of
it relating to the Congo. A British vessel here was placed at his
disposal, and while she was refitting Stanley gave his astonished Arabs
a ride on a railroad, on which they were whirled along at the rate of
thirty miles an hour. Of all the wonders they had seen since they left
Zanzibar, nearly three years before, this was the greatest.
Entertainments were prepared for them, suitable garments for that cold
latitude provided, till these poor, simple children of nature were made
dizzy by the attentions they received. Among other things a special
evening was set apart for them in the theatre, and they were thrown into
raptures at the performance of the acrobats and made the building ring
with their wild Arab shouts of approval.
At length, on the 6th of November, nearly two months from the time they
reached the Atlantic coast, they set sail for Zanzibar. Stopping for two
days at Natal to coal, where every possible attention was lavished on
them, they again put to sea and stretched northward through the Indian
Ocean.
Day after day these now contented people lay around on deck, drinking in
health from the salt sea air. All but one was shaking off every form of
disease contracted in their long wanderings. This one was a woman who
was slowly dying, and who was kept alive alone by the thought of seeing
her home once more. At last the hills of Zanzibar arose over the sea,
and as these untutored Arabs traced their well-known outline, their joy
was unbounded, and Stanley felt repaid for the self-denial that had
refused a passage home from Loanda to stay by his faithful followers to
the very last. Their excitement increased as the caves and inlets grew
more distinct, and at last the cocoanut and mangrove-trees became
visible. As the vessel entered port their impatience could not be
restrained, and the captain of the vessel, sympathizing with their
feelings, had no sooner dropped anchor than he manned the boats, while
the eager creatures crowded the gangway and ladder, each struggling to
be the first to set foot on their native island. As boat-load after
boat-load reached the shore, with a common feeling they knelt on the
beach and cried "Allah!" and offered up their humble thanksgiving to
God, who had brought them safely back to their homes.
The news of their arrival spread like wild-fire on every side, and soon
their relatives and friends came flocking in from all directions, and
glad shouts, and wild embracings, and floods of glad tears made a scene
that stirred Stanley's heart to its profoundest depths. Still, there was
a dark side to the picture. Scores of those that came rushing forward to
greet them, fell back shedding tears, not of gladness, but of sorrow,
for they found not those whom they fondly hoped to meet. Of the three
hundred that had set out, nearly thee years before, only one hundred and
twelve were left--and one of these, the poor sick woman, lived only long
enough to be clasped in her father's arms, when she died.
The great journey was ended, and Stanley, after paying off the living
and the relatives of the dead, at last started for home. As he was about
to enter the boat that was to bear him to the ship, the brave Uledi and
the chiefs shoved it from shore, and seizing Stanley, bore him through
the surf on their shoulders. And when the latter stood on the deck, as
the vessel slowly steamed away, the last object he saw on shore through
his eyes filled with tears, was his Arab friends watching him till he
should disappear from sight.
An enthusiastic reception awaited him in England, while from every part
of the continent distinguished honors were bestowed upon him.
He had performed one of the most daring marches on record--traced out,
foot by foot, one of the largest lakes of Central Africa, followed its
mightiest river, which, from the creation, had been wrapped in mystery,
from its source to its mouth, and made a new map of the "_dark
continent_."
Among the testimonials of the estimation in which the great work he had
accomplished was held, may be mentioned the gift of the portrait of King
Humbert of Italy, by himself, with the superscription:
"ALL' INTREPEDO VIAGGATORE,
ENRICO STANLEY.
UMBERTO _RE_.
TO THE INTREPID TRAVELER,
HENRY STANLEY.
KING HUMBERT."
The Prince of Wales also complimented him warmly on his achievements,
while the Khedive of Egypt conferred on him the high distinction of the
Grand Commandership of the Order of Medjidie, with the star and collar.
The Royal Geographical Society, of London, gave him a public reception,
and made him Honorary Corresponding Member, and the Geographical
Societies and Chambers of Commerce of Paris, Italy and Marseilles sent
him medals. He was also made Honorary Member of the Geographical
Societies of Antwerp, Berlin, Bordeaux, Bremen, Hamburg, Lyons,
Marseilles, Montpelier, Vienna, etc., etc. Honorary membership of almost
every distinguished society in England and on the continent were
conferred on him, and all seemed to vie with each other in heaping
honors on the most intrepid traveler of modern times.
As Americans, however, it gives us great pleasure to record the
following sentiment, showing that Stanley takes especial pride in being
an American. He says: "For another honor I have to express my
thanks--one which I may be pardoned for regarding as more precious than
all the rest. The Government of the United States has crowned my success
with its official approval, and the unanimous vote of thanks passed in
both houses of legislature, has made me proud for life of the expedition
and its success."