From the new station Livingstone made a missionary journey eastwards to

the country whither the Dutch Boers had trekked from the Cape. They had

left the Cape because they were dissatisfied with the English

administration of the country, for the English would not allow slavery

and proclaimed the freedom of the Hottentots. The Boers, then, founded a

republic of their own, the Transvaal, so named because it lay on the

other side of the Vaal, a tributary of the Orange River. Here they

thought they could compel the blacks to work as bondmen in their service

without being interfered with. They took possession of all the springs,

and the natives lived on sufferance in their own country. The Boers

hated Livingstone because they knew that he was an enemy to the slave

trade and a friend to the natives.

Livingstone had plenty of work at the station. He built his house, he

cultivated his garden, visited the sick, looked after his guns and

waggons, made mats and shoes, preached, taught in his children's school,

lectured on medicine, and instructed the natives who wished to become

missionaries. In his leisure hours he collected natural history

specimens, which he sent home, studied the poisonous tsetse fly and the

deadly fever, and was always searching for remedies. He was never idle.

His new place of abode had one serious defect--it was badly situated as

regarded rain and irrigation, and therefore Livingstone decided to move

again forty miles farther to the north, to Kolobeng, where for the third

time he built himself a house. As before, his black friends were much

disturbed at his departure, and when they could not induce him to

remain, the whole tribe packed up their belongings and went with him.

Then clearing, building, and planting went on again. At Kolobeng

Livingstone had a fixed abode for quite five years, but this was his

longest and last sojourn in one place, for his after-life was a

continuous pilgrimage without rest and repose. As usual, he gained the

confidence and friendship of the natives.

The worst trouble was the vicinity of the Boers. They accused him of

providing Sechele's tribe with weapons and exciting them against the

Boers. They threatened to kill all black missionaries who ventured into

the Transvaal, and devised plans for getting rid of Livingstone. Under

such conditions his work could not be successful, and he longed to go

farther north to countries where he could labour in peace without

hindrance from white men who were nominally Christians, but treated the

natives like beasts. Besides, hard times and famine now came to

Kolobeng. The crops suffered from severe drought, and even the river

failed. The natives went off to hunt, and the women gathered locusts for

food. No child came to school, and the church was empty on Sunday.

Then Livingstone resolved to move still farther northwards, and on June

1, 1849, the party set out. An Englishman named Oswell, who was

Livingstone's friend, went with them and bore all the expenses of the

journey. He was a man of means, and so several waggons, eighty oxen,

twenty horses, and twenty-five servants were provided.

After two months' march they came to the shore of Lake Ngami, which was

now seen for the first time by Europeans. The king, Lechulatebe, proved

less friendly than was expected. When he heard that Livingstone intended

to continue his journey northwards to the great chief Sebituane, he

feared that the latter would obtain firearms from the white men and

would come down slaying and pillaging to the country round the lake.

Finally the expedition was obliged to turn back to Kolobeng.

Livingstone, however, was not the man to give in, and he went twice more

to the lake, taking his wife and children with him.

On one of these journeys he came to the kingdom of the great and

powerful Sebituane, and was received with the most generous hospitality.

The chief gave him all the information he wished, and promised to help

him in every way. A few days later, however, Sebituane fell ill of

inflammation of the lungs and died.

Livingstone then continued his journey north-eastward with Oswell to the

large village of Linyanti, and shortly after discovered a river so large

and mighty that it resembled one of the firths of Scotland. The river

was called the Zambesi. Its lower course had long been known to

Europeans, but no one knew whence it came. The climate was unhealthy,

and was not suitable for the new mission-station that Livingstone

intended to establish. The Makololo people, the tribe of the deceased

chief, promised to give him land, huts, and oxen if he would stay with

them, but his mind was now occupied with great schemes and he gave up

all thoughts of a station. Honest, legitimate trade must first be made

to flourish. The Makololo had begun to sell slaves simply to be able to

buy firearms and other coveted wares from Europe. If they could be

induced to sell ivory and ostrich feathers instead, they would be able

to procure by barter all they wanted from European traders and need not

sell any more human beings. But to start such a trade a convenient route

must first be found to the coast of either the Atlantic or Indian Ocean.

A country in which the black tribes were in continual war with one

another simply for the purpose of obtaining slaves was not ripe for

Christianity. Accordingly Livingstone's plan was clear: first to find a

way to the coast, and then to foster an honest trade which would make

the slave-trade unnecessary.

Having sent his wife and children to England, Livingstone made his

preparations, and in the year 1853 he was at Linyanti, in the country of

the Makololo. Here began his remarkable journey to Loanda on the west

coast, not far south of the mouth of the Congo. No European had ever

travelled this way. His companions were twenty-seven Makololos, and his

baggage was as light as possible, chiefly cloth and glass beads, which

serve as currency in Africa. He took no provisions, as he thought he

could live on what the country afforded.

The journey was difficult and troublesome, through a multitude of savage

tribes. First the Zambesi was followed upwards, and then the route ran

along other rivers. In consequence of heavy rain, swollen watercourses

and treacherous swamps had to be crossed continually. Livingstone rode

an ox which carried him through the water after a small portable boat

had been wrecked and abandoned. Swarms of mosquitoes buzzed over the

moist ground, and Livingstone repeatedly caught fever from the damp,

close exhalations, and was often so ill that he could not even sit on

his ox. But amidst all these difficulties and hardships he never omitted

to observe the natural objects around him and to work at his map of the

route. His diary was a big volume in stout boards with lock and key, and

he wrote as small and as neatly as print.

Step by step he came nearer the sea. Most opportunely they met a

Portuguese, and in his company the small troop entered the Portuguese

territory on the west coast. The Portuguese received Livingstone with

great hospitality, supplied him with everything he wanted, and rigged

him out from top to toe.

Some English cruisers were lying off Loanda, having come to try to put

down the slave-trade, and Livingstone enjoyed a delightful rest with his

countrymen and slept in a proper bed after having lain for half a year

on wet ground. It would have been pleasant to have had a thorough

holiday on a comfortable vessel on the voyage to England after so many

years' wanderings in Africa, but Livingstone resisted the temptation. He

could not send his faithful Makololos adrift; besides, he had found that

the route to the west coast was not suitable for trade, and was now

wondering whether the Zambesi might serve as a channel of communication

between the interior and the east coast. So he decided to turn back in

spite of fever and danger, bade good-bye to the English and Portuguese,

and again entered the great solitude.

Before Livingstone left Loanda he put together a large mass of

correspondence, notes, maps, and descriptions of the newly discovered

countries, but the English vessel which carried his letters sank at

Madeira with all on board, and only one passenger was saved. News of the

misfortune reached Livingstone when he was still near the coast, and he

had to write and draw all his work again, a task that took him months.

If he had left the Makololo men to their fate he would have travelled in

the unfortunate vessel.

Rain and sickness often delayed him, but on the whole his return journey

was easier. He took with him from Loanda a large stock of presents for

the chiefs, and they were no longer strangers. And when he came among

the villages of the Makololo, the whole tribe turned out to welcome him,

and the good missionary held a thanksgiving service in the presence of

all the people. Oxen were killed round the fires at night, drums were

beaten, and with dance and song the people filled the air far above the

crowns of the bread-fruit trees with sounds of gladness. Sekeletu was

still friendly, and was given a discarded colonel's uniform from Loanda.

In this he appeared at church on Sunday, and attracted more attention

than the preacher and the service. His gratitude was so great that when

Livingstone set out to the east coast he presented his white friend with

ten slaughter oxen, three of his best riding oxen, and provisions for

the way. And more than that, he ordered a hundred and twenty warriors to

escort him, and gave directions that, as far as his power extended over

the forests and fields, all hunters and tillers of the ground should

provide the white man and his retinue with everything they wanted. Not

the least remarkable circumstance connected with Livingstone's travels

was that he was able to carry them out without any material help from

home. He was the friend of the natives, and travelled for long distances

as their guest.

Now his route ran along the bank of the Zambesi, an unknown road. During

his earlier visit to Linyanti he had heard of a mighty waterfall on the

river, and now he discovered this African Niagara, which he named the

Victoria Falls. Above the falls the river is 1800 yards broad, and the

huge volumes of water dash down foaming and roaring over a barrier of

basalt 390 feet high to the depth beneath. The water boils and bubbles

as in a kettle, and is confined in a rocky chasm in some places barely

50 yards broad. Clouds of spray and vapour hover constantly above the

fall, and the natives call it "the smoking water." Among the general

public in Europe, Livingstone's description of the Victoria Falls made a

deeper impression than any of his other discoveries, so thoroughly

unexpected was the discovery in Africa of a waterfall which could match,

nay in many respects surpass, Niagara in wild beauty and imposing power.

Now a railway passes over the Falls, and a place has grown up which

bears the name of Livingstone.

The deafening roar of the water died away in the distance, and the party

followed the forest paths from the territory of one tribe to that of the

next. Steadfast as always, Livingstone met all danger and treachery with

courage and contempt of death, a Titan among geographical explorers as

well as among Christian missionaries. He drew the main outlines of this

southern part of Darkest Africa and laid down the course of the Zambesi

on his map. For a year he had been an explorer rather than a missionary.

But the dominating thought in his dream of the future was always that

the end of geographical exploration was only the beginning of missionary

enterprise.

At the first Portuguese station he left his Makololo men, promising to

return and lead them back to their own villages. Then he travelled down

the Zambesi to Quilimane on the sea. He had, therefore, crossed Africa

from coast to coast, and was the first scientifically educated European

to do so.

After fifteen years in Africa he had earned a right to go home. An

English ship carried him to Mauritius, and at the end of 1856 he

reached England. He was received everywhere with boundless enthusiasm,

and never was an explorer fêted as he was. He travelled from town to

town, always welcomed as a hero. He always spoke of the slave-trade and

the responsibility that rested on the white men to rescue the blacks.

Africa, lying forgotten and misty beneath its moving rain-belts, became

at once the object of attention of all the educated world.

Detraction was not silent at the home-coming of the victor. The

Missionary Society gave him to understand that he had not laboured

sufficiently for the spread of the Gospel, and that he had been too much

of an explorer and too little of a missionary. He therefore left the

Society; and when, after a sojourn of more than a year at home, he

returned to Africa, it was in the capacity of English Consul in

Quilimane, and leader of an expedition for the exploration of the

interior of Africa.

We have no time to accompany Livingstone on his six years' journeys in

East Africa. Among the most important discoveries he made was that of

the great Lake Nyassa, from the neighbourhood of which 19,000 slaves

were carried annually to Zanzibar, to say nothing of the far greater

numbers who died on the way to the coast. One day Livingstone went down

to the mouth of the Zambesi to meet an English ship. On board were his

wife and a small specially built steamer called the _Lady Nyassa_,

designed for voyages on rivers and lakes. Shortly afterwards his wife

fell ill and died, and was buried under the leafy branches of a

bread-fruit tree. In spite of his grief he went on with his work as

diligently as before, and when the time came for him to sail home, he

thought of selling the _Lady Nyassa_ to the Portuguese. But when he

heard that the boat was to be used to transport slaves, he kept it,

steered a course for Zanzibar, and then resolved to cross the Indian

Ocean in the small open boat by the use of both sails and steam. This

was one of Livingstone's most daring exploits, for the distance to

Bombay was 2500 miles across the open sea, and in the beginning of

January the south-west monsoon might be expected with its rough, stormy

seas. He hoped, however, to reach Bombay before the monsoon broke, so

with three white sailors and nine Africans, and only fourteen tons of

coal, he steamed out of the harbour of Zanzibar, saw the coast of Africa

fade away and the dreary waste of water close round him on all sides.

Two of the white sailors fell ill and were unfit for work, and the bold

missionary had to depend almost entirely on himself. Ocean currents

hindered the progress of the _Lady Nyassa_, and for twenty-five days she

was becalmed, for the coal had to be used sparingly, and when the sails

hung limp from the mast there was nothing to be done but to exercise

patience. Fortunately there was sufficient food and drinking water, and

Livingstone was accustomed to opposition and useless waiting. He had to

ride out two violent storms, and the _Lady Nyassa_ was within a hair's

breadth of turning broadside to the high seas. In view of the immense

watery waste that still lay before him he meditated making for the

Arabian coast, but as a favourable wind got up and the sailing was good

he kept on his course. At length the coast of India rose up out of the

sea, and after a voyage of six weeks the _Lady Nyassa_ glided into the

grand harbour of Bombay. The air was hazy and no one noticed the small

boat, but when it was known that Livingstone was in the city, every one

made haste to pay him homage.

In the year 1866 Livingstone was again in Africa. We find him at the

mouth of the Rovuma, a river which enters the sea to the east of Lake

Nyassa. He had thirty-seven servants, many of them from India, and one

of his men, Musa, had been with him before. He crossed the country to

Lake Nyassa, but when he wished to pass over to the eastern shore in

native boats, he was stopped by the Arabs, who knew that he was the most

formidable opponent of the slave-trade. He had no choice but to go round

the lake on foot, and little by little he made contributions to human

knowledge, drew maps, and made notes and collections. He came to

districts he already knew, where black women were carried off by

crocodiles on the bank of the Shiré River, where he had lost his wife,

and where all the missionaries sent out on his recommendation had died

of fever.

His staff of servants soon proved to be a worthless lot. The Indians

were dismissed, and few of the others could be depended on. The best

were Susi and Chuma, who by their faithfulness gained a great reputation

both in Africa and Europe. Musa, on the contrary, was a scoundrel. He

heard from an Arab slave-dealer that all the country through which

Livingstone was about to travel was inhabited by a war-like tribe, who

had lately fallen upon a party of forty-four Arabs and killed all but

the narrator himself. Musa and most of his comrades were so frightened

that they ran away. On his arrival at Zanzibar, Musa informed the

British Consul that Livingstone had been attacked and murdered and all

his goods plundered. The false account was so cleverly concocted and so

thoroughly rehearsed that Musa could not be convicted of deceit. Every

one believed him, and the English newspapers contained whole columns of

reminiscences of the deceased. Only one friend of Livingstone, who had

accompanied him on one of his journeys and knew Musa, had any doubts. He

went himself to Africa, followed Livingstone's trail, and learned from

the natives that the missionary had never been attacked as reported, but

that he was on his way to Lake Tanganyika.

The road thither was long and troublesome, and the great explorer

suffered severe losses. Provisions ran short, and a hired porter ran

away with the medicine chest. From this time Livingstone had no drugs to

allay fever, and his health broke down. But he came to the southern

extremity of Tanganyika, and the following year discovered Lake

Bangweolo. He rowed out to the islands in the lake, and very much

astonished the natives, who had never seen a white man before. Extensive

swamps lay round the lake, and Livingstone believed that the

southernmost sources of the Nile must be looked for in this region. This

problem of the watershed of the Nile so fascinated him that he tarried

year after year in Africa; but he never succeeded in solving it, and

never knew that the river running out of Bangweolo is a tributary of the

Lualaba or Upper Congo.

Most of his men mutinied on the shore of Bangweolo. They complained of

the hardships they endured and were tired of munching ears of maize, and

demanded that their master should lead them to country where they could

get sufficient food. Mild and gentle as always, Livingstone spoke to

them kindly. He admitted that they were right, and confessed that he was

himself tired of struggling on in want and hardship. They were so

astonished at his gentleness that they begged to remain with him.

Livingstone was dangerously ill on this journey and had to be carried on

a litter. There he lay unconscious and delirious with fever, and lost

entirely his count of time. The troop moved again towards Tanganyika,

and was to cross the lake in canoes to the Ujiji country on the eastern

shore. If he could only get so far, he could rest there, and receive new

supplies and letters from home.

Worn out and exhausted he at length reached Ujiji, a rendezvous for the

Arab slave-dealers. But his fresh supplies had disappeared entirely. He

wrote for more from the coast, and urged the Sultan of Zanzibar to see

that nothing went astray. He wrote heaps of letters which never reached

their destination. A packet of forty-two were sent off at one time, not

one of which arrived, for at that time the tribes to the east of the

lake were at war with one another.

Livingstone did not allow his courage to fail. No difficulties were

great enough to crush this man. With Susi and Chuma and a party of newly

enlisted porters, he set out westwards across the lake, his aim being to

visit the Manyuema country, through the outskirts of which flows the

Lualaba. If Livingstone could prove in which direction this mighty river

ran, whether to the Mediterranean or the Atlantic, he could then return

home with a good conscience. He had determined in his own mind that he

would not leave the Dark Continent until he had solved the problem, and

for this he sacrificed his life without result. The canoes sped over the

lake, and on the western shore he continued his journey on foot to the

land of the Manyuemas. He marched on westwards. When the rainy season

came on he lost several months, and when he set out again on his next

march he had only three companions, two of them being the faithful Susi

and Chuma. In the dark thickets of the tropical forests he wounded his

feet, dragged himself over fallen trunks and decaying rubbish, and waded

across swollen rivers; and among the crowns of the lofty trees and in

the dense undergrowth lurked malaria, an invisible miasma. He fell ill

again and had to rest a long time in his miserable hut, where he lay on

his bed of grass reading his tattered Bible, or listening to the

native's tales of combats with men and apes, for gorillas lived in the

forests.

Thus year after year passed by, and not the faintest whisper from the

noisy world reached his ears. The only thing that retained him was the

Lualaba. Did its waters run in an inexhaustible stream to the western

ocean, or did they flow gently through forests, swamps, and deserts to

Egypt? If he could only answer that question, he would go by the nearest

way to Zanzibar and thence home. He had heard nothing of his children

and friends for years. The soil of Africa held him prisoner in a network

of forests and lianas.

In February 1871 he left Manyuema and came to Nyangwé on the bank of the

Lualaba, one of the principal resorts of slave-dealers. The natives were

hostile, believing that he was a slave-trader; and the slave-traders who

knew him by sight hated him. He tried in vain to procure canoes for a

voyage down the great river. He offered a chief, Dugumbé, a liberal

reward if he would help him to prepare for this expedition. While

Dugumbé was considering the offer, Livingstone witnessed an episode

which surpassed in horror all that he had previously met with in Africa.

It was a fine day in July on the bank of the Lualaba, and 1500 natives,

mostly women, had flocked to market at a village on the bank.

Livingstone was out for a stroll, when he saw two small cannon pointed

at the crowd and fired. Many of the unfortunate people, doomed to death

or the fetters of slavery, rushed to their canoes, but were met by a

band of slave-hunters and surprised by a shower of arrows. Fifty canoes

lay at the bank, but they were so closely packed that they could not be

put out. The wounded shrieked and threw themselves on one another in

wild despair. A number of black heads on the surface of the water showed

that many swimmers were trying to reach an island about a mile away. The

current was against them and their case was hopeless. Shot after shot

was fired at them. Some sank quietly without a struggle, while others

uttered cries of terror and raised their arms to heaven before they went

down to the dark crystal halls of the crocodiles. Fugitives who

succeeded in getting their canoes afloat forgot their paddles and had to

paddle with their hands. Three canoes, the crews of which tried to

rescue their unfortunate friends, filled and sank, and all on board were

drowned. The heads in the water became gradually fewer, and only a few

men were still struggling for life when Dugumbé took pity on them and

allowed twenty-one to be saved. One brave woman refused to receive help,

preferring the mercy of the crocodiles to that of the slave-king. The

Arabs themselves estimated the dead at 400.

This spectacle made Livingstone ill and depressed. The description of

the scene which afterwards appeared in all the English journals awakened

such a feeling of horror that a commission was appointed and sent out to

Zanzibar to inquire into the slave-trade on the spot, and with the

Sultan's help devise means of suppressing it. But we know that in

Gordon's time the slave-trade still flourished in the Sudan, and several

decades more passed before the power of the slave-dealers was broken. As

for Livingstone, it was fortunate that he did not accompany Dugumbé, for

the natives combined for defence, attacked the chiefs party and slew 200

of the slave-dealing rabble.

Thus the question of the Lualaba remained unsolved, but Livingstone

began to suspect that his theory of the Nile sources was wrong. He heard

a doubtful tale of the Lualaba bending off to the west, but he still

hoped that it flowed northwards, and that therefore the ultimate source

of the Nile was to be found among the feeders of Lake Bangweolo. When

difficulties sprang up around him, his determination not to give in was

only strengthened. But he could do nothing without a large and

well-ordered caravan, and therefore he had to return to Ujiji, whither

fresh supplies ought to have arrived from the coast. And amidst a

thousand dangers and lurking treachery he effected his return through

the disturbed country. Half dead of fever and in great destitution he

arrived at Ujiji in October.

There a fresh disappointment awaited him. His supplies had indeed come,

but the Arabian scoundrel to whose care the goods had been consigned had

sold them, including 2000 yards of cloth and several sacks of glass

beads, the only current medium of exchange. The Arab coolly said that he

thought the missionary was dead.

We read in Livingstone's journal that in his helplessness he felt like

the man who went down to Jericho and fell among thieves. Five days after

his arrival at Ujiji he writes as follows: "But when my spirits were at

their lowest ebb, the good Samaritan was close at hand, for one morning

Susi came running at the top of his speed and gasped out 'An Englishman!

I see him!' and off he darted to meet him. The American flag at the head

of a caravan told of the nationality of the stranger. Bales of goods,

baths of tin, huge kettles, cooking pots, tents, etc., made me think

'This must be a luxurious traveller, and not one at his wits' end like

me!'"

HOW STANLEY FOUND LIVINGSTONE

Now we must go back a little and turn to another story.

Henry Stanley was a young journalist, who in October happened to be in

Madrid. He was on the staff of the great newspaper, the _New York

Herald_, which was owned by the wealthy Gordon Bennett. One morning

Stanley was awakened by his servant with a telegram containing only the

words: "Come to Paris on important business." Stanley travelled to Paris

by the first train, and at once went to Bennett's hotel. Bennett asked

him, "Where do you think Livingstone is?"

"I really do not know, sir."

"Do you think he is alive?"

"He may be, and he may not be."

"Well, I think he is alive," said Bennett, "and I am going to send you

to find him."

"What!" cried Stanley. "Do you mean me to go to Central Africa?"

"Yes; I mean that you shall go and find him. The old man may be in want;

take enough with you to help him, should he require it. Do what you

think best--_but find Livingstone_."

In great surprise Stanley suggested that such a journey would be very

expensive, but Bennett answered, "Draw a thousand pounds now; and when

you have gone through that, draw another thousand, and when that is

spent, draw another thousand, and when you have finished that, draw

another thousand, and so on; _but find Livingstone_."

"Well," thought Stanley, "I will do my best, God helping me." And so he

went off to Africa.

He had, however, been charged by his employer to fulfil other missions

on the way. He made a journey up the Nile, visited Jerusalem, travelled

to Trebizond and Teheran and right through Persia to Bushire, and

consequently did not arrive at Zanzibar until the beginning of January,

1871.

Here he made thorough preparations. He had never been before in the

Africa of the Blacks, but he was a clever, energetic man, with a genius

for organisation. He bought cloth enough for a hundred men for two

years, glass beads, brass wire and other goods in request among the

natives. He bought saddles and tents, guns and cartridges, boats,

medicine, tools, provisions and asses. Two English sailors volunteered

for the expedition, and he took them into his service, but both died in

the fever country. Black porters were engaged, and twenty men he called

his soldiers carried guns. After he had crossed over from Zanzibar to

the African mainland, the equipment of the expedition was completed at

Bagamoyo, and Stanley made haste to get away before the rainy season

commenced.

The great and well-found caravan of 192 men in all trooped westwards in

five detachments. Stanley himself led the last detachment, and before

them lay the wilderness, the interior of Africa with its dark recesses.

At the first camping-ground tall maize was growing and manioc plants

were cultivated in extensive fields. The latter is a plant with large

root bulbs chiefly composed of starch, but also containing a poisonous

milky juice which is deadly if the roots be eaten without preparation.

When the sap has been removed by proper treatment, however, the roots

are crushed into flour, from which a kind of bread is made. Round a

swamp in the neighbourhood grew low fan-palms and acacias among

luxuriant grass and reeds.

Next day they marched under ebony and calabash trees, from the shells of

which the natives make vessels of various shapes, for while they are

growing the fruits can be forced by outward pressure into almost any

desired form. Pheasants and quails, water-hens and pigeons flew up

screaming when the black porters tramped along the path, winding in

single file through the grass as high as a man. Hippopotami lay snorting

unconcernedly in a stream that was crossed.

Then came the forerunners of the rainy season, splashing and pelting

over the country, and pouring showers pattered on the grass. Both the

horses of the caravan succumbed, one or two fellows who found Bagamoyo

more comfortable ran away, and a dozen porters fell ill of fever.

Stanley was still full of energy, and beat the reveille in the morning

himself with an iron ladle on an empty tin. On they went through dense

jungle. Now a gang of slaves toils along, their chains clanking at every

weary step. Here again is a river, and there the road runs up a hill.

Here the country is barren, but soon after crops wave again round

villages. Maize fields in a valley are agitated like the swell of the

sea, and gentle breezes rustle through rain-bedewed sugar-cane. Bananas

hang down like golden cucumbers, and in barren places tamarisks and

mimosas perfume the air. Sometimes a halt is made in villages of

well-built grass huts.

Over swampy grasslands soaked by the continuous rains Stanley led his

troop deeper and deeper into Africa. After having lasted forty days, the

rainy season came to an end on the last day of April. The men marched

through a forest of fine Palmyra palms, a tree which grows over almost

all tropical Africa, in India, and on the Sunda Islands, and which is

extolled in an old Indian poem because its fruits, leaves, and wood can

be applied to eight hundred and one various uses. Afterwards the country

became more hilly, and to the west one ridge and crest rose behind

another. The porters and soldiers were glad to leave the damp coast-land

behind and get into drier country, but the ridges made travelling

harder. They encamped in villages of beehive-shaped huts covered with

bamboos and bast, and surrounded by mud walls. Some tracts were so

barren that only cactus, thistles, and thorny bushes could find support

in the dry soil, and near a small lake were seen the tracks of wild

animals, buffaloes, zebras, giraffes, wild boars, and antelopes, which

came there to drink.

Then the route ran through thickets of tamarisk, and under a canopy of

monkey bread-fruit trees, till eventually at a village Stanley fell in

with a large Arab caravan, with which he travelled through the dreaded

warlike land of Ugogo. When they set out together the whole party

numbered 400 men, who marched in Indian file along the narrow paths.

"How are you, White Man?" called out a man at Ugogo in a thundering

voice when Stanley arrived, and when he had set up his quarters in the

chief's village the natives flocked around to gaze at the first white

man they had ever seen. They were friendly and offered milk, honey,

beans, maize, nuts, and water-melons in exchange for cloth and glass

beads, but also demanded a heavy toll from the caravan for the privilege

of passing through their country.

The caravan proceeded through the avenues of the jungle, from time

immemorial frequented by elephants and rhinoceroses. In one district the

huts were of the same form as Kirghiz tents, and in another rocks rose

up in the forest like ruins of a fairy palace. The porters were not

always easy to manage, and on some occasions were refractory. But if

they were given a young ox to feast on, they quickly calmed down and sat

round the fire while strips of fresh meat frizzled over the embers.

Now it was only one day's march to Tabora, the principal village in

Unyamwezi, and the chief settlement of the Arabs in East Africa. The

caravan set out with loud blasts of trumpets and horns, and on arrival

discharged a salvo of guns, and Arabs in white dresses and turbans came

out to welcome the explorer. Here Stanley found all his caravans, and

the Arabs showed him every attention. They regaled him with wheaten

loaves, chickens and rice, and presented him with five fat oxen, eight

sheep, and ten goats. Round about they had cultivated ground and large

herds, and it was difficult to believe that the stately well-grown men

were base slave-traders.

Just at this time the country of Unyamwezi was disturbed by a war which

was raging with Mirambo, a great chief in the north-west, and

consequently when Stanley left Tabora, now with only fifty-four men, he

had to make a detour to the south to avoid the seat of war. At every

step he took, his excitement and uncertainty increased. Where was this

wonderful Livingstone, whom all the world talked about? Was he dead long

ago, or was he still wandering about the forests as he had done for

nearly thirty years?

A bale or two of cloth had frequently to be left with a chief as toll.

In return one chief sent provisions to last the whole caravan for four

days, and came himself to Stanley's tent with a troop of black warriors.

Here they were invited to sit down, and they remained silent for a

while, closely examining the white man; then they touched his clothes,

said something to one another, and burst out into unrestrained laughter.

Then they must see the rifles and medicine chest. Stanley took out a

bottle of ammonia, and told them that it was good for headaches and

snake-bites. His black majesty at once complained of headache and wanted

to try the bottle. Stanley held it under the chiefs nose, and of course

it was so strong that he fell backwards, pulling a face. His warriors

roared with laughter, clapped their hands, snapped their fingers,

pinched one another, and behaved like clowns. When the king had

recovered, he said, as the tears ran from his eyes, that he was quite

cured and needed no more of the strong remedy.

A river ran among hills, through a magnificent country abounding in

game, and lotus leaves floated on the smooth water. The sun sinks and

the moon soars above the mimosa trees, the river shines like a silver

mirror, antelopes are on the watch for the dangers of the night. Within

the enclosure of the camp the black men sit gnawing at the bones of a

newly-shot zebra. But when it is time to set out again from the

comfortable camp, the porters would rather remain where they are and

enjoy themselves, and when the horn sounds they go sullenly and slowly

to their loads. After half an hour's march they halt, throw down their

loads, and begin to whisper in threatening groups. Two insubordinate

ruffians lie in wait with their rifles aimed at Stanley, who at once

raises his gun and threatens to shoot them on the spot if they do not

immediately drop their rifles. The mutiny ends without bloodshed, and

the men promise again to go on steadily to Lake Tanganyika, according to

their agreement.

Now Stanley is in a forest tract where cattle of all kinds are pestered

by the tsetse fly, and where the small honey bird flies busily about

among the trees. It is like the common grey sparrow, but somewhat

larger, and has a yellow spot on each shoulder. It receives its name

from its habit of flying in short flights just in front of the natives

to guide them to the nests of wild bees, in order to get its share of

the honey. When a man follows it, he must not make a noise to frighten

it, but only whistle gently, that the bird may know that its intention

is understood. As it comes nearer to the wild bees' nest, it takes

shorter flights, and when it is come to the spot, it sits on a branch

and waits. Stanley says that the honey bird is a great friend of the

natives, and that they follow it at once when it calls them.

Stanley now turned northwards to a river which flows into Lake

Tanganyika. The caravan was carried over in small frail boats, and the

asses which still survived had to swim. When the foremost of them came

to the middle of the river he was seen to stop a moment, apparently

struggling, and then he went down, a whirlpool forming above his head.

He had been seized by a crocodile.

A caravan which came from Ujiji reported that there was a white man in

that country. "Hurrah, it is Livingstone! It must be Livingstone!"

thought Stanley. His eagerness and zeal were stimulated to the

uttermost, and he offered his porters extra pay to induce them to make

longer marches. Eventually the last camp before Tanganyika was reached

in safety, and here Stanley took out a new suit of clothes, had his

helmet chalked, and made himself spruce, for the reports of a white

man's presence at the lake became more definite.

The 28th of October, 1871, was a beautiful day, and Stanley and his men

marched for six hours south-westwards. The path ran through dense beds

of bamboo, the glittering, silvery surface of Tanganyika was seen from a

height, and blue, hazy mountains appeared afar off on the western shore.

The whole caravan raised shouts of delight. At the last ridge the

village of Ujiji came into sight, with its huts and palms and large

canoes on the beach. Stanley gazed at it with eager eyes. Where was the

white man's hut? Was Livingstone still alive, or was he a mere dream

figure which vanished when approached?

The villagers come streaming out to meet the caravan, and there is a

deafening noise of greeting, enquiries, and shouts.

From the midst of the crowd a black man in a white shirt and a turban

calls out, "Good morning, sir!"

"Who the mischief are you?" asks Stanley.

"I am Susi, Dr. Livingstone's servant," replied the man.

"What! Is Dr. Livingstone here?"

"Yes, sir."

"In this village? Run at once and tell the Doctor I am coming."

When Livingstone heard the news he came out from his verandah and went

into the courtyard, where all the Arabs of Ujiji had collected. Stanley

made his way through the crush, and saw a small man before him, grey and

pale, dressed in a bluish cap with a faded gold band round it, a

red-sleeved waistcoat, and grey trousers. Stanley would have run up to

embrace him, but he felt ashamed in the presence of the crowd, so he

simply took off his hat and said, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?"

"Yes," said he, with a kind smile, lifting his cap slightly.

"I thank God, Doctor, I have been permitted to see you."

"I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you."

* * * * *

They sat down on the verandah, and all the astonished natives stood

round, looking on. The missionary related his experiences in the heart

of Africa, and then Stanley gave him the general news of the world, for

of course he knew nothing of what had taken place for years past. Africa

had been separated from Asia by the Suez Canal. The Pacific Railway

through North America had been completed. Prussia had taken

Schleswig-Holstein from Denmark, the German armies were besieging Paris,

and Napoleon the Third was a prisoner. France was bleeding from wounds

which would never be healed. What news for a man who had just come out

of the forests of Manyuema!

Evening drew on and still they sat talking. The shades of night spread

their curtain over the palms, and darkness fell over the mountains where

Stanley had marched, still in uncertainty, on this remarkable day. A

heavy surf beat on the shore of Lake Tanganyika. The night had travelled

far over Africa before at last they went to rest.

The two men were four months together. They hired two large canoes and

rowed to the northern end of Tanganyika, and ascertained that the lake

had no outlet there. Only two years later Lieutenant Cameron succeeded

in finding the outlet of Tanganyika, the Lukuga, which discharges into

the Lualaba; and when he found that Nyangwé on the Lualaba lies 160 feet

lower than the Nile where it flows out of the Albert Nyanza, he had

proof that the Lualaba could not belong to the Nile, and that

Livingstone's idea that the farthest sources of the Nile must be looked

for at Lake Bangweolo was only an idle dream. The Lualaba therefore must

make its way to the Atlantic, and in fact this river is nothing but the

Upper Congo. Lieutenant Cameron was also the first European to cross

Central Africa from east to west.

On the shores of the great lake the two travellers beheld a series of

beautiful landscapes. There lay villages and fishing-stations in the

shade of palms and mimosas, and round the villages grew maize and durra,

manioc, yams, and sweet potatoes. In the glens round the lake grew tall

trees from which the natives dig out their canoes. Baboons roared in the

forests and dwelt in the hollow trunks. Elephants and rhinoceroses,

giraffes and zebras, hippopotami and wild boars, buffaloes and antelopes

occurred in large numbers, and the northern extremity of the lake

swarmed with crocodiles. Sometimes the strangers were inhospitably

received when they landed, and once when they were off their guard the

natives plundered their canoes. Among other things they took a case of

cartridges and bullets, and the travellers thought it would be bad for

the thieves if the case exploded at some camp fire.

It soon became time, however, for Stanley to return to Zanzibar and

inform the world through the press that Livingstone was alive. They went

to Tabora, for Livingstone expected fresh supplies, and in addition

Stanley gave him forty men's loads of cloth, glass beads and brass-wire,

a canvas boat, a waterproof tent, two breech-loaders and other weapons,

ammunition, tools, and cooking utensils. All these things were

invaluable to Livingstone, who was determined to remain in Africa at any

cost until his task was accomplished.

The day of parting came--March 14, 1872. Stanley was very depressed,

believing that the parting was for ever. Livingstone went with him a

little way and then bade him a hearty farewell, and while Stanley made

haste towards the coast the Doctor turned back to Tabora and was again

alone in the immense wilds of Africa. But he had still his faithful

servants Susi and Chuma with him.

THE DEATH OF LIVINGSTONE

At Zanzibar Stanley was to engage a troop of stout, reliable porters and

send them to Tabora, where Livingstone was to await their arrival. He

had entrusted his journals, letters, and maps to Stanley's care, and

that was fortunate, for when Stanley first arrived in England his

narrative was doubted, and he was coldly received. Subsequently a

revulsion of feeling set in, and it was generally recognised that he had

performed a brilliant feat.

In due time the new supply of porters turned up at Tabora, fifty-seven

men. They were excellent and trustworthy, and in a letter to Stanley,

Livingstone says that he did not know how to thank him sufficiently for

this new service. At the end of August the indefatigable Doctor set off

on his last journey. He made for Tanganyika, and on New Year's Day,

1873, he was near Lake Bangweolo. It rained harder than ever, pouring

down as if the flood-gates of heaven were opened. The caravan struggled

slowly on through the wet, sometimes marching for hours through sheets

of water, where only the eddies of the current distinguished the river

from the adjoining swamps and flooded lands. The natives were

unfriendly, refused to supply provisions, and led the strangers astray.

Livingstone had never had such a difficult journey.

His plan was to go round the south of Lake Bangweolo to the Luapula,

which flows out of the lake and runs to the Lualaba. Then he meant to

follow the water in its course to the north, and ascertain its direction

and destination.

But whichever way the mysterious river made its way to the ocean, the

journey was long, and Livingstone's days were numbered. He had long been

ill, and his condition was aggravated by the hardships of the journey.

His body was worn out, and undermined by constant fever and insufficient

nourishment. Yet he did not abandon hope of success and conscientiously

wrote down his observations, and no Sunday passed without a service with

his people.

Month after month he dragged himself along, but his strength was no

longer what it had been. On April 21 he wrote with trembling hand only

the words, "Tried to ride, but was forced to lie down and they carried

me back to vil. exhausted." A comfortable litter was made, and Susi and

Chuma were always with him. Livingstone asked the chief of the village

for a guide for the next day, and the chief answered, "Stay as long as

you wish, and when you want guides to Kalunganjovu's you shall have

them."

The day after he was carried for two hours through marshy, grassy flats.

During the next four days he was unable to write a line in his diary,

but was carried by short stages from village to village along the

southern shore of Lake Bangweolo. On April 27 he wrote in his diary,

"Knocked up quite, and remain--recover--sent to buy milch goats. We are

on the banks of the Molilamo." With these words his diary, which he had

kept for thirty years, concluded. Milch goats were not to be had, but

the chief of the place sent a present of food.

Four days later the journey was resumed. The chief provided canoes for

crossing the Molilamo, a stream which flows into the lake. The invalid

was transferred from the litter to a canoe, and ferried over the swollen

stream. On the farther bank Susi went on in advance to the village of

Chitambo to get a hut ready. The other men followed slowly with the

litter. Time after time the sick man begged his men to put the litter

down on the ground and let him rest. A drowsiness seemed to come over

him which alarmed his servants. At a bend of the path he begged them to

stop again, for he could go no farther. But after an hour they went on

to the village. Leaning on their bows, the natives flocked round the

litter on which lay the man whose fame and reputation had reached them

in previous years. A hut was made ready, and a bed of grass and sticks

was set up against the wall, while his boxes were deposited along the

other walls, and a large chest served as a table. A fire was lighted

outside the entrance, and the boy Majwara kept watch.

Early on April 20 the chief Chitambo came to pay a visit, but

Livingstone was too weak to talk to him. The day passed, and at night

the men sat round their fires and went to sleep when all was quiet.

About eleven o'clock Susi was told to go to his master. Loud shouts were

heard in the distance, and Livingstone asked Susi if it was their men

who were making the noise. As the men were quiet in their huts, Susi

replied, "I can hear from the cries that the people are scaring away a

buffalo from their durra fields." A few minutes later he asked, "Is this

the Luapula?" "No," answered Susi, "we are in Chitambo's village." Then

again, "How many days is it to the Luapula?" "I think it is three days,

master," answered Susi. Shortly after he murmured, "O dear, dear!" and

dozed off again.

At midnight Majwara came again to Susi's hut and called him to the sick

man. Livingstone wished to take some medicine, and Susi helped him, and

then he said, "All right, you can go now."

About four o'clock on the morning of May 1 Majwara went to Susi again

and said, "Come to Bwana, I am afraid; I don't know if he is alive."

Susi waked Chuma and some of the other men, and they went to

Livingstone's hut. Their master was kneeling beside the bed, leaning

forward with his head buried in his hands. They had often seen him at

prayer, and now drew back in reverential silence. But they felt ill at

ease, for he did not move; and on going nearer they could not hear him

breathe. One of them touched his cheek and found it was cold. The

apostle of Africa was dead.

In deep sorrow his servants laid him on the bed and went out into the

damp night air to consult together. The cocks of the village had just

begun to crow, and a new day was dawning over Africa. Then they went in

to open his boxes and pack up everything. All the men were present so

that all might be jointly responsible that nothing was lost. They

carefully placed his diaries and letters, his Bible and instruments, in

tin boxes so that they might be safe from wet and from white ants, which

are very destructive.

The men knew that they would have great difficulties to encounter. They

knew that the natives had a horror of the dead, believing that spirits

in the dark land of the departed thought of nothing but revenge and

mischief. Therefore they perform ceremonies to propitiate departed

spirits and dissuade them from plaguing the living with war, famine, or

sickness.

Susi and Chuma, who had been with their master for seven years, felt

their responsibility. They spoke with the men whom Stanley had sent from

the coast and asked their opinion. They answered, "You are old men in

travelling and hardships; you must act as our chiefs, and we will

promise to obey whatever you order us to do." Susi and Chuma accordingly

took the command, and carried out an exploit which is unique in all the

history of exploration.

First of all a hut was erected at some little distance from the village,

and in this they placed the body to prepare it for the long journey. The

heart and viscera were removed, placed in a tin box, and reverently

buried in the ground, one of Livingstone's Christian servants reading

the Funeral Service. The body was then filled with salt and exposed for

fourteen days to the sun in order to dry and thus be preserved from

decay. The legs were bent back to make the package shorter, and the body

was sewed up tightly in cotton. A cylinder of bark was cut from a tree

and in this the body was enclosed. Round the whole a piece of canvas

was bound, and the package was tied to a pole for convenience of

carrying. On a tree near, Livingstone's name was cut and the date of his

death, and Chitambo was asked to have the grass rooted up round the tree

so that it should not at any time be destroyed by a bush fire.

When all was ready two men lifted the precious burden from the ground,

the others took their loads on their backs, and a journey was commenced

which was to last nine months, a funeral procession the like of which

the world had never seen before. The route ran sometimes through

friendly, sometimes through hostile tribes. Once they had to fight in

order to force their way through. News of the great missionary's death

had preceded them. Like a grass fire on the prairie it spread over

Africa from coast to coast, creeping silently through the forests. In

some districts the people ran away from fear of the sad procession,

while in others they came up to see it. Bread-fruit trees stretched

their boughs over the road like a canopy over a victor returning home,

and palms, the emblems of peace and resurrection, stood as sentinels by

the way, which was left clear by the wild animals of the forest. And

mile after mile the party marched eastwards under the green arches.

In Tabora they met an English expedition sent out too late for the

relief of Livingstone, and its members listened with emotion to the tale

of the men. They wished to bury the corpse at Tabora, but Livingstone's

servants would not hear of it. A few days later they met with serious

opposition. A tribe refused to let them pass with a corpse. Then they

made up a load resembling that containing the body, and gave out that

they had decided to return to Tabora to bury their master there. Some of

the men marched back with the false package, which they took to pieces

at night and scattered among the bush. Then they returned to their

comrades, who meanwhile had altered the real package so as to look like

a bale of cloth. The natives were then satisfied and let them move on

unmolested.

In February, 1874, they arrived at Bagamoyo, and the remains were

carried in a cruiser to Zanzibar and afterwards conveyed to England. In

London there was a question whether the body was really Livingstone's,

but his broken and reunited arm, which was crushed by the lion at

Mabotsa, set all doubts at rest. He was interred in Westminster Abbey in

the middle of the nave. The temple of honour was filled to overflowing,

and among those who bore the pall was Henry Stanley. The grave was

covered with a black stone slab, in which was cut the following

inscription:--

"BROUGHT BY FAITHFUL HANDS

OVER LAND AND SEA,

HERE RESTS

DAVID LIVINGSTONE,

MISSIONARY, TRAVELLER, PHILANTHROPIST.

BORN MARCH 19, 1813,

BLANTYRE, LANARKSHIRE.

DIED May 4th, 1873,

AT CHITAMBO'S VILLAGE, ILALA.

FOR THIRTY YEARS HIS LIFE WAS SPENT

IN AN UNWEARIED EFFORT TO EVANGELISE

THE NATIVE RACES, TO EXPLORE THE

UNDISCOVERED SECRETS,

AND ABOLISH THE DESOLATING SLAVE-TRADE

OF CENTRAL AFRICA...."

The memory of the "Wise Heart" or the "Helper of Men," as they called

Livingstone, is still handed down from father to son among the natives

of Africa, and they are glad that his heart remains in African soil

under the tree in Chitambo's village. His dream of finding the sources

of the Nile, and of throwing light on the destination of the Lualaba,

was not fulfilled, but he discovered Ngami and Nyassa and other lakes,

the Victoria Falls and the upper course of the Zambesi, and mapped an

enormous extent of unknown country.

STANLEY'S GREAT JOURNEY

In the autumn of 1874 Stanley was back in Zanzibar to try his fortune

once more in Darkest Africa. He organised a caravan of three hundred

porters, provided himself with cloth, beads, brass-wire, arms, boats

which could be taken to pieces, tents, and everything else necessary for

a journey of several years.

He made first for the Victoria Nyanza, and circumnavigated the whole

lake. He visited Uganda, came again to Ujiji, where Livingstone's hut

had long been razed to the ground, and sailed all round Lake

Tanganyika.

Two years after he started he was at Nyangwé on the Lualaba. Livingstone

and Cameron had been there before, and we can imagine Stanley's feelings

when he at last found himself at this, the most westerly point ever

reached by a European from the coast of the Indian Ocean. Behind him lay

the known country and the great lakes; before him lay a land as large as

Europe, completely unknown and appearing as a blank on maps. Travellers

had come to its outskirts from all sides, but none knew what the

interior was like. It was not even known whither the Lualaba ran.

Livingstone had vainly questioned the natives and Arabs about it, and

vainly Stanley also tried to obtain information. At Nyangwé the Arab

slave-traders held their most western market. Thither corn, fruit, and

vegetables were brought for sale; there were sold animals, fish, grass

mats, brass-wire, bows, arrows, and spears; and thither were brought

ivory and slaves from the interior. But though routes from all

directions met at Nyangwé, the Arabs were as ignorant of the country as

any one.

The black continent, "Darkest Africa," lay before Stanley. He was a bold

man, to whom difficulties were nothing. He had a will of iron. All

opposition, all obstacles placed in his way, must go down before him. He

had determined not to return eastwards, whence he had come, but to march

straight westwards to the Atlantic coast, or die in the attempt.

Accordingly, early on the morning of November 5, 1876, Stanley left

Nyangwé in company with the rich and powerful Arab chief, Tippu Tib, and

directed his way northwards towards the great forest. Tippu Tib's party

consisted of 700 men, women, and children, while Stanley had 154

followers armed with rifles, revolvers, and axes. "Bismillah--in the

name of God!" cried the Mohammedan leaders of the company, as they took

the first step on the dangerous road.

The huge caravan, an interminable file of black men, entered the forest.

There majestic trees stood like pillars in a colonnade; there palms

struggled for room with wild vines and canes; there flourished ferns,

spear-grass, and reeds, and there bushes in tropical profusion formed

impenetrable brushwood; while through the whole was entangled a network

of climbing plants, which ran up the trunks and hung down from the

branches. Everything was damp and wet. Dew dropped from all the branches

and leaves in a continuous trickle. The air was close and sultry, and

heavy with the odour of plants and mould. It was deadly still, and

seldom was the slightest breeze perceptible; storms might rage above

the tree-tops, but no wind reached the ground, sheltered in the dimness

of the undergrowth.

The men struggle along over the slippery ground. Balancing their loads

on their heads with their hands, they stoop under boughs, push saplings

aside with their elbows, thrust their feet firmly into the mud in order

not to slip. Those who are clothed have their clothes torn, while the

naked black men graze their skins. Very slowly the caravan forces its

way through the forest, and a passage has frequently to be cut for those

who carry the sections of the boats.

All who, after Stanley, have travelled through the great primeval forest

in the heart of Africa have likewise described its suffocating hot-house

air, the peaceful silence, only broken by the cries of monkeys and

parrots, its deep, depressing gloom. If the journey is of long duration

men get wearied, experiencing a feeling of confinement, and long for

air, freedom, sun, and wind. It is like going through a tunnel, no

country being visible on either side. The illumination is uniform,

without shadows, without gleams, and the perpetual gloom, only

interrupted by pitch-dark night, is exceedingly wearisome. Like polar

explorers in the long winter night, the traveller longs for the sun and

the return of light.

The party travelled northwards at some distance east of the Lualaba.

Stanley climbed up a tree which grew somewhat apart on a hillock. Here

he found himself above the tree-tops, and saw the sunlit surface of the

primeval forest of closely growing trees below him. A continuous sea of

boughs and foliage fell like a swell down to the bank of the Lualaba. Up

here there was a breeze and the leaves fluttered in the wind; but down

below reigned darkness and silence and the exuberant life of the

tropics.

Even for such a man as Stanley this primeval forest was a hard nut to

crack. Sickness, weariness, and insubordination prevailed in his troop.

The great Tippu Tib considered it impossible to advance through such a

country, and wished to turn back with all his black rabble, but after

much hesitation he was at last persuaded to accompany Stanley for twenty

days longer. So on they went once more, and after innumerable

difficulties came again to the bank of the Lualaba.

The huge volumes of water glided along silently and majestically. Brown

and thick with decaying vegetation, the Lualaba flowed between dense

woods to the unknown region inhabited by negro tribes never heard of by

Europeans, and where no white man had ever set his foot. Here Stanley

decided to leave the terrible forest and to make use of the waterway of

the Lualaba. There were the boats in sections, and a whole fleet of

canoes could soon be made from the splendid trees growing at hand. The

whole caravan was accordingly assembled, and Stanley explained his

purpose. At first the men grumbled loudly, but Stanley declared that he

would make the voyage even if no one went with him but Frank Pocock, the

only survivor of the three white men who had started with him from

Zanzibar. He turned to his boat's crew and called out, "You have

followed me and sailed round the great lakes with me. Shall I and my

white brother go alone? Speak and show me those who dare follow me!" On

this a few stepped forward, and then a few more, and in the end

thirty-eight men declared themselves willing to take part in the voyage.

At this juncture many canoes full of natives were observed at the

opposite side of the river, so Stanley and Tippu Tib and some other

Arabs entered the boat and rowed up to a small island in mid-stream.

Here the black warriors were in swarms, and thirty canoes lay at the

water's edge. At a safe distance, Stanley's interpreter called out that

the white man only wished to see their country, that nothing belonging

to them should be touched, and that they themselves should not be

disturbed. They answered that if the white man would row out to the

island in the morning with ten servants, their own chief would meet him

with ten men, and would enter into blood-brotherhood with him. After

that the strangers might cross the river and visit their villages.

Suspecting treachery, however, Stanley sent twenty armed men by night to

the island to hide themselves in the brushwood. Then in the morning

Pocock and ten men rowed out to the meeting-place, near which Stanley

waited in his boat. A swarm of canoes put out from the western bank, and

when they came to the island the rowers raised their wild war-whoop,

_Ooh-hu! Ooh-hu-hu!_ and rushed ashore with bows bent and raised spears.

Then Stanley's twenty men came out of their hiding-place, the fight was

short, and the savages dashed headlong into their boats and rowed away

for their lives.

The next morning, with thirty men on board his boat, Stanley began his

journey down the river, while Tippu Tib and Pocock marched with all the

rest of the troop along the bank. The natives had retired, but their cry

of _Ooh-hu-hu!_ was still heard in the distance. On an island between

the main river and a tributary Stanley's party landed to wait for the

caravan and help it over the affluent. In the meantime Stanley made a

short excursion up the tributary, the water of which was inky-black

owing to the dark tree roots which wound about its bottom. On his return

he found the camp island surrounded by hostile canoes and heard random

shots, but when his boat drew near, the savages were frightened and

rowed away.

At length Tippu Tib straggled up with his party, and the journey could

be continued. The boat was rowed near the bank, and the two divisions

were kept in touch with each other by means of drums. All the villages

they came to were deserted, but the natives were evidently keeping a

close watch on these wonderful strangers, for one day when some of

Stanley's men were out scouting on two captured canoes, they were

attacked, and when they tried to escape they came among eddies and

rapids, where their boats capsized and four rifles were lost. The men

climbed up and sat astride the upturned canoes until they were rescued

by their comrades.

Then the expedition went on again. The river was usually half a mile

broad or more, and frequently divided by long rows of islands and holms.

The large village of Ikondu consisted of cage-like reed huts built in

two long rows. All the inhabitants had fled, but pitchers full of wine

were suspended from the palms, melons and bananas emitted their

fragrance, and there was plenty of manioc plantations, ground-nuts, and

sugar-cane. Near the place was found a large old canoe, cracked, leaky,

and dilapidated, but it was patched up, put in the river, and used as a

hospital. Smallpox and dysentery raged in the caravan, and two or three

corpses were thrown daily into the river.

Once, as the small flotilla was rowing quietly along not far from the

bank, a man in the hospital canoe cried out. He had been hit in the

chest by a poisoned barb, and this was followed by a whole shower of

arrows. The boats were rowed out from the dangerous bank, and a camp was

afterwards pitched on an old market-place. The usual fence was set up

round the tents, and sentinels were posted in the bush. Then were heard

shots, cries, and noise. The watchman ran in calling out, "Look out,

they are coming," and immediately arrows and javelins rattled against

the stockade, and the savages rushed on, singing their dreadful

war-songs. But their arrows and javelins were little use against powder

and ball, and they soon had to retire. They were reinforced, however,

and returned again and again to the attack, and did not desist till the

fight had lasted two hours and twilight had come on.

After other combats, Stanley and Tippu Tib came to a country on the

western bank densely peopled with hostile natives, where they had to

fight again. The savages were repulsed, and rowed out to a long island,

where they moored their canoes by ropes fastened round posts. They would

certainly renew the attack next day. But this time they were to be

thoroughly checkmated. Rain pelted down on the river, the night was

pitch dark, and there was a fresh breeze. Stanley rowed to the island,

and his boat stole silently and cautiously under the high tree-covered

bank. He cut the ropes of every canoe he got hold of, and in a short

time thirty canoes were sent adrift down the river, many of them being

caught by boatmen posted farther down stream. Before dawn the men were

back at the camp with their looted boats.

The savages, who lay crouching in their grass hovels on the island, must

certainly have felt foolish in the morning when they found that they had

lost their canoes and were left helpless. Then an interpreter rowed out

to them to put before them the conditions exacted by the white man. They

had treacherously attacked his troop, killing four and wounding

thirteen. Now they must furnish provisions, and then they would be paid

for the captured canoes and peace would be established.

It was important that the expedition should have a few days' rest at

this place, for Tippu Tib had had enough, and refused to advance a step

farther down the river with its warlike natives. Accordingly, he was to

turn back with his black retinue, while Stanley was to continue the

journey with a selected party, many of whom had their wives and children

with them. The troop consisted of a hundred and fifty souls. Provisions

were collected for twenty days. The canoes were fastened together in

pairs by poles, that they might not capsize, and the flotilla consisted

of twenty-three boats.

It was one of the last days in December. A thick mist hung over the

river and the nearest palms were scarcely visible, but a breeze sprang

up and thinned the haze. Then the trumpets and drums sounded the signal

for starting, and Stanley gave the order to get into the boats. The

parting song of the sons of Unyamwezi was answered by Tippu Tib's

returning troop, and the flotilla of canoes glided down the dark river

towards unknown lands and destiny.

Stanley believed that this mighty river, which he named after

Livingstone, was none other than the Congo, the mouth of which had been

known for more than four hundred years; but he did not reject the

possibility that it might also unite with the Nile or be connected with

the Niger far away to the north-west. The journey which was now to solve

this problem will be famous for all time for its boldness and daring,

for the dangers overcome and adventures experienced, and is quite

comparable with the boat journeys of the Spaniards who discovered the

Amazons and Mississippi rivers in America.

Fourteen villages lie buried in the dense bush, and Stanley's flotilla

makes for the bank to encamp for the first time after parting from Tippu

Tib. Here the natives are friendly, but there is trouble a little

farther on, where the woods echo with the noise of war-drums and the

savages are drawn up with shield and spear. The drum signals are

repeated from village to village, from the one bank to the other. Canoes

are manned and put out from both banks and Stanley's flotilla is

surrounded. The interpreters call out "Peace! Peace!" but the savages

answer peremptorily, "Turn back or fight." Consultations and

negotiations are held, while the river sweeps down the whole assemblage

of friends and foes. More villages peep out from the trees where dwell

enemies of the attacking savages, so the latter dip their oars in the

water and row back without coming to blows.

But soon there was a different scene. Javelins were thrown from other

canoes and the dreadful poisoned arrows were discharged, so the

death-dealing European firearms had to be used in self-defence. On this

occasion Stanley's men succeeded in capturing a number of shields, of

which indeed they had need.

Again the war-drum is heard, just as the flotilla is passing a small

island. Stanley orders his boats to keep in the middle of the river

ready for action. Swarms of canoes shoot out from the bank like wild

ducks, and the black warriors beat their spears against their shields.

The interpreter gets up in the bow and shouts out "Peace! Take care or

we strike!" Then the savages hesitate, and retire quietly under

promontories and overhanging wooded banks. By the single word "Peace!"

the interpreter could often check parties of warriors, but others

answered the offer of peace with a scornful laugh, and their showers of

arrows and assegais had to be met with a volley of rifle bullets.

The New Year (1877) had already come, when a friendly tribe warned the

travellers of dangerous falls and rapids, the roar of which they would

shortly hear. The flotilla glided along the right bank, and all listened

for the expected thunder. Suddenly savages appeared on the bank and

hurled their assegais; then the war-drums were heard again, and a large

number of long canoes approached (Plate XXX.). The warriors had painted

one half of their bodies white and the other red, with broad black

stripes, and looked hideous. Their howls and horn blasts betokened a

serious attack. By this time Stanley's boats were out in the middle of

the stream in order of battle, with the shields placed along the

gunwales to protect the non-combatants. A canoe 80 feet long rowed

straight for Stanley's boat, but was received by a rattling volley. Then

it was Stanley's turn to attack, for the great canoe could not turn in

time. Warriors and oarsmen jumped overboard to save themselves by

swimming to land, and as the other boats vanished the expedition could

go on towards the falls.

Now was heard the roar of the water as it tumbled in wild commotion over

the barriers in its bed. The natives thought that this was just the

place to catch the strangers, and Stanley had to fight his way step by

step, sometimes on land and sometimes on the river. In quiet water

between the various falls the men could row, but in other places paths

had to be cut through the brushwood on the bank and the canoes hauled

over land. Often they had to fight from tree to tree. Once the savages

tried to surround Stanley's whole party in a large net, and lost eight

of their own men for their trouble. These captives were tattooed on the

forehead and had their front teeth filed to a point. Like all the other

people in the country, they were cannibals, and were eager for human

flesh.

One day at the end of January Stanley's boats crossed the equator, and

the great river turned more and more towards the west, so that it

evidently could not belong to the Nile. Here the party passed the

seventh and last fall, where the brown water hurled itself in mad fury

over the barrier. Thus the series of cascades afterwards known as the

Stanley Falls was discovered and passed.

Below the falls the river expands, sometimes to as much as two miles in

breadth. The opposite bank could hardly be seen, and the boats came into

a labyrinth of channels between islands. The rowers sang to the swing of

their oars, and a sharp look-out had always to be kept. Sometimes

canoes followed them, and occasionally ventured to attack. Wild warriors

were seen with loathsome features, and red and grey parrots' feathers on

their heads, and bangles of ivory round their arms.

[Illustration: PLATE XXX. THE FIGHT ON THE CONGO.

From Stanley's _Through the Dark Continent._]

In one village was found a temple with a round roof supported on

thirty-three elephants' tusks. In the middle was set up an idol carved

in wood and painted red, with black eyes, hair, and beard. Knives,

spears, and battle-axes were wrought with great skill, and were

ornamented with bands of copper, iron, and bone. Among the refuse heaps

were seen remains of horrible feasts, and human skulls were set up on

posts round the huts.

Interminable forests grew on the banks and islands, with the many-rooted

mangrove-tree, tall, snake-like canes with drooping tufts of leaves, the

dragon's-blood tree, the india-rubber, and many others.

Danger and treachery lurked behind every promontory, and the men had to

look out for currents, falls, rapids, and whirlpools. Hippopotami and

crocodiles were plentiful. But the savages were the worst danger.

Stanley and his men were worn out with running the gauntlet month after

month.

At the village of Rubunga, where the natives were friendly, Stanley

heard for the first time that the river actually was the Congo. Here the

traveller was able to replenish his stock of provisions, and when the

drums of Rubunga were sounded it was not for battle but to summon the

inhabitants to market, and from the surrounding villages the people came

to offer for sale fish, snails, oysters, dried dog-flesh, goats,

bananas, meal, and bread. As a rule, however, no trust could be placed

in the natives. In their hideous tattooing, with strings of human teeth

round their necks and their own teeth filed to a point like a wolf's,

with a small belt of grass round their loins and spears and bows in

their hands, they did not inspire confidence, and frequently the boats

had barely put out from the bank where the people seemed friendly before

the natives manned their canoes and pursued them. In this region they

were armed with muskets procured from the coast. Once Stanley's small

flotilla was surrounded by sixty-three canoes, and there was a hard

fight with firearms on both sides. In the foremost canoe stood a young

chief, handsome, calm, and dignified, directing the attack. He wore a

head-covering and a mantle of goatskin, and on his arms, legs, and neck

he had large rings of brass wire. A bullet struck him in the thigh. He

quietly wound a rag round the wound and signed to his oarsmen to make

for the bank. Then the others lost courage and followed their leader's

canoe.

They struggled southwards from one combat to another. The passage of the

great curve of the Congo had cost thirty-two fights. Now remained a

difficult stretch, where the mighty river breaks in foaming falls and

rapids through the escarpment which follows the line of the west coast

of Africa. These falls Stanley named after Livingstone; he was well

aware that the river could never be called by any other name than the

Congo, but the falls would preserve the great missionary's name.

Innumerable difficulties awaited him here. On one occasion half a dozen

men were drowned and several canoes were lost, and the party had to wait

while others were cut out in the forest. One day Pocock drifted towards

a fall, and was not aware of the danger until it was too late and he was

swept over the barrier. Thus perished the last of Stanley's white

companions.

At another fall the coxswain and the carpenter went adrift in a newly

excavated canoe. They had no oars. "Jump, man," called out the former,

but the other answered, "I cannot swim." "Well, then, good-bye, my

brother," said the quartermaster, and swam ashore. The other went over

the fall. The canoe disappeared in the seething whirlpool, came up again

with the man clinging fast to it, was sucked under once more, and rose

again still with the carpenter. But when it reappeared for the third

time in another whirlpool the man was gone.

At last all the boats were abandoned and the men travelled by land. The

party was entirely destitute, all were emaciated, miserable, and hungry.

A black chief demanded toll for their passage through his country, and

they had nothing to give. He would be satisfied with a bottle of rum he

said. Rum, indeed, when they had been three years in the depths of

Africa! Stanley was reasoning with the chief when the coxswain came and

asked what was the matter. "There's rum for him," he said, and gave the

chief a buffet which knocked him over and put his whole retinue to

flight.

Now it was only a couple of days' journey to Boma, near the mouth of the

Congo, where there were trade factories and Europeans. Stanley wrote a

letter to them, and was soon supplied with all necessaries; and after a

short rest at Boma the party made the voyage round the south of Africa

to Zanzibar, where Stanley dismissed his men.

He then travelled home, and was, of course, fêted everywhere. For a

thousand years the Arabs had travelled into the interior of Africa, but

they did not know the course of the Congo. European explorers had for

centuries striven to penetrate the darkness. The natives themselves did

not know whither the Lualaba ran. All at once Stanley had filled up the

blank and knit together the scattered meshes of the net; and now a

railway runs beside the falls, and busy steamboats fly up and down the

Congo. Well did Stanley deserve his native name of Bula Matadi, or "the

breaker of stones," for no difficulty was too great for him to overcome.

After a life of restless activity--including another great African

journey to find Emin Pasha, the Governor of the Equatorial Province

after Gordon's death--Stanley was gathered to his fathers in 1904. He

was buried in a village churchyard outside London, and a block of rough

granite was placed above the grave. Here may be read beneath a cross,

"Henry Morton Stanley--Bula Matadi--1841-1904," and lastly the word that

sums up all the work of his life, "Africa."

TIMBUKTU AND THE SAHARA

In the middle of north-western Africa, where the continent shoots a

gigantic tongue out into the Atlantic, lies one of the world's most

famous towns, Timbuktu.

Compared with Cairo or Algiers, Timbuktu is a small town. Its three poor

mosques cannot vie with the grand temples which under French, Turkish,

or English dominion raise their graceful minarets on the Mediterranean

shores of Africa. Not a building attracts the eye of the stranger amidst

a confusion of greyish-yellow mud houses with flat roofs and without

windows, and neglect and decay stare out from heaps of ruins. There is

hardly a tottering caravanserai to invite the desert wanderer to rest.

Some streets are abandoned, while in others the foot sinks over the

ankle in blown sand from the Sahara.

Timbuktu is not so famous as the sparkling jewels in the diadem of

Asia--Jerusalem and Mecca, Benares and Lhasa. The very name of each of

these is, as it were, a vital portion of a great religion, and indeed

almost stands for the religion itself. Timbuktu has scarcely any

religion, or, more correctly, too many. And yet this town has borne a

proud name during its eight hundred years of existence--the great, the

learned, the mysterious city. No pilgrims flock thither to fall down in

prayer before a redeemer's grave or be blessed by a high priest. No

pyramids, no marble temples, make Timbuktu one of the world's wonders.

No wealth, no luxuriant vegetation exist to make it an outer court to

Paradise.

[Illustration: NORTH-WEST AFRICA.]

And yet Timbuktu is an object of desire. Millions long to go there, and

when they have been, long to get away again. Caravan men who have

wandered for months through the desert long for the tones of the flute

and the cithern, and the light swayings of the troops of dancers. Palms

and mimosa grow sparsely round Timbuktu, but after the dangers of the

desert the monotonous, dilapidated town with its dusty, dreary streets

seems really like an entrance to Paradise. Travelling merchants who have

risked their wealth in the Sahara among savage robbers, and have been

fortunate to escape all dangers, are glad at the sight of Timbuktu, and

think its grey walls more lovely than anything they can imagine.

The remarkable features of Timbuktu are, then, its situation and its

trade. We have only to take a look at the map to perceive that this town

stands like a spider in its web. The web is composed of all the routes

which start from the coast and converge on Timbuktu. They come from

Tripoli and Tunis, from Algeria and Morocco, from Senegal and Sierra

Leone, from the Pepper Coast, the Ivory Coast, and Slave Coast, the Gold

Coast, and from the countries round the Gulf of Guinea, which have been

annexed by France, England, and Germany. They come also from the heart

of the Sahara, where savage and warlike nomad tribes still to this day

maintain their freedom against foreign interference.

In Timbuktu meet Arabs and negroes, Mohammedans and heathens from the

deserts and fruitful lands of the Sahara and Sudan. Timbuktu stands on

the threshold of the great wastes, and at the same time on the third in

rank of the rivers of Africa. At the town the Niger is two and a half

miles broad, and from its mouth it discharges more water than the Nile,

but much less than the Congo. Like the Congo, the Niger makes a curve to

the north, bidding defiance to the Sahara; but the desert wins in the

end, and the river turns off towards the south.

It is a struggle between life and death. The life-giving water washes

the choking sand, and just where the strife is fiercest lies Timbuktu.

From the north goods come on dromedaries to be transported farther in

canoes or long, narrow boats with arched awnings of matting, or, where

the river is not navigable, on oxen and asses or the backs of men.

Dromedaries cannot endure the damp climate near the Niger, which

especially in winter overflows its banks for a long distance. Therefore

they are led back through the Sahara. They thrive on the dry deserts.

The constantly blowing north-east trade-wind dries up the Sahara, and in

certain regions years may pass without a drop of rain.

The name Timbuktu has a singular sound. It stands for all the mystery

and fascination connected with the Sahara It leads the thoughts to the

greatest expanse of desert in the world, to long and lonely roads, to

bloody feuds and treacherous ambushes, to the ring of caravan bells and

the clank of the stirrups of the Beduins (Plate XXXI.). There seems to

be a ring in the name itself, and we seem to hear the splash of the

turbid waters of the Niger in its vowels. We seem to hear the plaintive

howl of the jackal, the moan of the desert wind, the squealing of

dromedaries outside the northern gateway, and the boatmen splashing with

oars and poles in the creeks of the river.

Caravans from the northern coast bring cloth, arms, powder, paper,

tools, hardware, sugar, tea, coffee, tobacco, and a quantity of other

articles to Timbuktu. But when they begin their journey through the

Sahara, only half the camels are laden. The other half are loaded with

blocks of salt on the way, for salt is in great demand at Timbuktu.

Caravans may be glad if they come safely through the country of the

Tuaregs, and at best they can only obtain an unmolested passage by the

payment of a heavy toll. On the return journey northwards the

dromedaries are laden with wares from the Sudan, rice, manioc, honey,

nuts, monkey breadfruit, dried fish, ivory, ostrich feathers,

india-rubber, leather, and many other things. A small number of black

slaves also accompany them. The largest caravans contain five hundred or

a thousand dromedaries and five hundred men at most. The goods they can

transport may be worth twenty-eight thousand pounds or more. Five great

caravan roads cross the Sahara from north to south.

Let us set out on a journey from Timbuktu, and let us go first eastwards

to the singular Lake Chad, which is half filled with islands, is shallow

and swampy, choked with reeds, rises and falls with the discharge of the

great rivers which flow into it, and has a certain similarity to Lop-nor

in Central Asia. Nearly 17 cubic miles of water are estimated to enter

Lake Chad in the year, and when we know that the lake on the whole

remains much about the same size, we can conceive how great the

evaporation must be.

We have our own dromedaries and our own Arab guide on whom we can rely.

We can therefore go where we like, and we steer our course from Lake

Chad towards the eastern Sudan, where we have already been in the

company of General Gordon. But before we come to the Nile we turn off

northwards to cross the Libyan desert, the most inaccessible and

desolate, and therefore the least known, part of the Sahara. On our way

northwards we notice that animal and vegetation life becomes more

scanty. Even in the Sudan the grasslands are more thinly clothed and

the steppes more desert-like the farther we travel, and at last blown

sand predominates. We must follow a well-known road which has been used

for thousands of years by Arabs and Egyptians.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXI.

A GROUP OF BEDUINS.]

We are in the midst of the sea of sand. Here lie at certain places dunes

of reddish-yellow drift sand as high as the tower of St. Paul's

Cathedral. We see no path, for it has been swept away by the last storm;

but the guide has his landmarks and does not lose his way. The sand

becomes lower and the country more open. Then the guide points to a bare

and barren ridge which rises out of the sand like a rock out of the sea,

and says that he can find his way by this landmark, which remains in

sight for several days, and is then replaced by another elevation.

We encamp at a deep well, drink and water our camels. Next day we are

out in the sandy sea again. The sky has assumed an unusual hue. It is

yellow, and soon changes into bluish grey. The sun is a red disc. It is

calm and sultry. The guide looks serious, and says in a low tone

"samum." The hot, devastating desert storm which is the scourge of

Arabia and Egypt is approaching.

The guide stops and turns round. He is uncertain. But he goes on again

when he sees that we cannot get back to the well before the storm is

upon us. It is useless to look for shelter, for the dunes are too flat

to protect us from the wind. And now the storm sweeps down, and it

becomes suffocatingly close and hot. The dromedaries seem uneasy, halt,

and turn away from the wind. We dismount. The dromedaries lie down and

bury their muzzles in the sand. We wrap up our heads in cloths and lie

on our faces beside our animals to get some shelter between them and the

ground. And so we may lie by the hour panting for breath, and we may be

glad if we get off with our lives from a _samum_ when we are out in the

desert. Even in the oases it causes a feeling of anxiety and trouble,

for the burning heat is most harmful to palms and crops. The temperature

may rise to 120° in this dangerous storm, which justifies its name of

"poison wind."

The storm passes off, the air becomes clear and is quiet and calm, and

the sun has again its golden yellow brilliance. It is warm, but not

suffocating as it was. The heated air vibrates above the sand. Beside

our road appears a row of palms and before them a silver streak of

water. The guide, however, goes on in quite a different direction, and

when we ask him why, he answers that what we see is a mirage, and that

there is no oasis for many days' journey in the direction in which we

see the palms.

In the evening we come to a real oasis, and there we are glad to rest a

couple of days. Here are a hundred wells, here the ground is cultivated

in the shade of the palms, here we can enjoy to the full the moist

coolness above the swards of juicy grass. The oasis is like an island in

the desert sea, and between the palm trunks is seen the yellow level

horizon, the dry, heated desert with its boundless sun-bathed wastes.

If we now turn off towards the north-west, Fezzan is the next country

which our route touches. It is a paradise of date palms. They occur in

such profusion that even dromedaries, horses, and dogs are fed with the

fruits. The surface of the ground also has undergone a great change, and

is not so sterile and choked with sand as in the Libyan desert. Here and

farther to the west the country becomes more hilly. Ridges and bosses of

granite and sandstone, weathered and scorched by the sun, stand up here

and there. Extensive plateaus covered with gravel are called _hammada_;

they are ruins of former mountains which have burst asunder. In the

Sahara the differences of temperature between day and night are very

great. The dark, bare hill-slopes may be heated up to 140° or more when

the sun bathes them, while during the night the radiation out to space

is so intense that the temperature sinks to freezing-point. Through

these continual alternations the rocks expand and contract repeatedly,

fissures are formed and fragments are detached and fall down. The

hardest rocks resist longest, and therefore they stand up like strange

walls and towers amidst the great desolation.

If we go another step westwards we come to the land of the Tuaregs.

There, too, we find hilly tracts and _hammadas_, sandy deserts and

oases, and in favourable spots excellent pastures. We have already

noticed in Timbuktu this small, sturdy desert people, easily recognised

by the veil which hides the lower part of the face. All Tuaregs wear

such a veil, and call those who do not "fly-mouths." They are powerfully

built, and of dark complexion, being of mixed negro blood from all the

slaves they have kidnapped in the Sudan. They are as dry and lean as the

ground on which they live, and nature in their country obliges them to

lead a nomad life. Wide, simple, and dreary is the desert, and simple

and free is the nomad's life. The hard struggle for existence has

sharpened their senses. They are acute observers, clever, crafty, and

artful. Distance is of no account to them, for they do not know what it

is to be tired. They fly on their swift dromedaries over half the

Sahara, and are a terror to their settled neighbours and to caravans. On

their raids they cover immense distances in a short time. To ride from

the heart of their country to the Sudan after booty is child's play to

them. They have made existence in many oases quite unendurable. What use

is it to till fields and rear palms when the Tuaregs always reap the

harvest? The French have had many fights with the Tuaregs, and the

railway which was to pass through their country and connect Algiers with

Timbuktu is still only a cherished project. Yet this tribe which has so

bravely defended its freedom against the stranger does not number more

than half a million people. The Tuaregs are not born to be slaves, and

we cannot but admire their thirst for freedom, their pride, and their

courage.

The desert here exhibits the difficult art of living. Even animals and

plants which are assigned to the desert are provided with special

faculties. Some of the animals, snakes and lizards for instance, can

live without water. Dromedaries can go for many days without drinking.

Ostriches cover great distances to reach water before it is too late.

Plants are provided with huge roots that they may suck up as much

moisture as possible, and many of them bear thorns and spikes instead of

leaves so that the evaporation may be insignificant. Many of them are

called to life by a single fall of rain, develop in a few weeks, and die

when long drought sets in again. Then the seeds are left, waiting

patiently for the next rain. Some desert plants seem quite dead, grey,

dried-up, and buried in dust, but when rain comes they send out green

shoots again.

Every river bed is called in the Sahara a _wadi_. Very seldom does a

trickle of water run down it after rain, but in these beds the

vegetation is richer than elsewhere, for here moisture lingers longer

than in other spots. Many caravans march along them, and gazelles and

antelopes find pasture here.

A European leaves Algeria to make his way into the Sahara with an

incomprehensible feeling of fascination. In the French towns on the

Mediterranean coast he has lived just as in Europe. He has been able to

cross by train the forest-clad heights of the Atlas Mountains, where

clear brooks murmur among the trees. He leaves the railway behind, and

finds the hills barer the farther he travels south. At last the

monotonous, slightly undulating desert stretches before him, and he

feels the magical attraction of the Sahara drawing him deeper and deeper

into its great silence and solitude. All the colours become subdued and

greyish-yellow, like the lion's hide. Everything is yellow and grey,

even the dromedaries which carry him, his tent and baggage, from well to

well. He can hardly tell why he finds this country pleasanter than the

forests and streams on the slopes of the Atlas Mountains; perhaps owing

to the immense distances, the mysterious horizon afar off, the blood-red

sunsets, the grand silence which prevails everywhere so that he hardly

dares speak aloud. It is the magic of the desert that has got hold of

him.

Thirty years ago a large French expedition, under the command of Colonel

Flatters, marched along this route from Algeria southwards through the

Sahara. It consisted of a hundred men, including seven French officers

and some non-commissioned officers, and its equipment and provisions

were carried by three hundred dromedaries. The French Government had

sent out the expedition to examine the Tuaregs' country, and to mark out

a suitable route for a railway through the Sahara to connect the French

possessions in the north and south. It was not the first time that the

Colonel had travelled in the Sahara, and he knew the Tuaregs well.

Therefore he was on his guard. Everything seemed most promising. The

Frenchmen mapped parts of the Sahara which no European had ever

succeeded in reaching before--even the great German traveller, who had

crossed the Sahara in all directions, had not been there. The most

dangerous tracts were left behind, and the Tuaregs had offered no

resistance: indeed some of their chiefs had been friendly. In the last

letters which reached France, Flatters expressed a hope that he would be

able to complete his task without further trouble, and to advance even

to the Sudan.

Then the blow fell. The expedition was suddenly attacked at a well, and

succumbed after a heroic defence against superior numbers. Most of the

Frenchmen were cut down. Part of the caravan attempted to reach safety

by hurrying northwards on forced marches, but was overtaken and

annihilated. Many brave Frenchmen have met the same fate as Flatters in

the struggle for dominion over the Sahara.

If we travelled, as we have lately imagined, on swift-footed dromedaries

in a huge circuit from Timbuktu through the Sudan, the Libyan desert,

and the land of the Tuaregs, we should at last come to Morocco, "The

Uttermost West," as this last independent Sultanate in Africa is called.

Morocco is the restless corner of Africa, as the Balkan Peninsula is of

Europe, Manchuria of Asia, and Mexico of North America--in South America

all parts are unsettled.

III

NORTH AMERICA

THE DISCOVERY OF THE NEW WORLD

Now we must say farewell to Africa. We have in front of us the Straits

of Gibraltar, little more than six miles broad, the blue belt that

connects the Mediterranean with the Atlantic, the sharply defined

boundary which separates the black continent from the white.

We have but a step to take and we are in Spain. Here, also, a dying echo

from the splendid period of Arab rule reaches our ears. We are reminded

that twelve centuries have passed away since the Prophet's chosen people

conquered the Iberian Peninsula. The sons of Islam were a thorn in the

sides of the Christians. Little by little they were forced back

southwards. Only Cordova and Granada still remained in the possession of

the Arabs, or Moors as they were called, and when Ferdinand the Catholic

married Queen Isabella of Castile in the year 1469, only Granada was

left in the hands of the Moors. Their last king lived in his splendid

palace, the Alhambra in Granada. In 1491 the Spanish army besieged the

Moorish city. Barely forty years earlier the Mohammedans had taken

Constantinople. Now other Mohammedans were to be turned out of western

Europe. New Year's Day 1492 came and Granada fell. The Moorish king had

to bend humbly on his knees before the victor ere he went on his way,

and the Castilian flag waved from the towers and pinnacles of the

Alhambra.

This remarkable incident was witnessed by a mariner from Genoa,

forty-six years old. His name was Christopher Columbus.

At the time of the fall of Granada there was no one among the learned

men of Europe who had any suspicion of the existence of a continent in

the western ocean, and the Portuguese sought only a sea route to

India--the rich land of spices, gold, pearls, and coral. But there was a

learned mathematician, Toscanelli of Florence, who perceived that, as

the world was round, a mariner must necessarily reach Japan, China, and

India by sailing westwards from Europe, and as early as 1474 he produced

maps and other proofs of the correctness of his theory. It was Columbus,

by his boldness and ability, who converted this theory into fact.

Christopher Columbus was the eldest of five children of a weaver in

Genoa. He and his brothers also engaged in the weaving industry, but as

their father's affairs were anything but flourishing, the sons decided

to seek a living in foreign countries. Christopher became a sailor, and

acquired all the qualifications necessary to handle a ship. He gained

great experience and a thorough knowledge of his new profession. He once

sailed on an English vessel to Thule or Iceland, the longest voyage

which mariners of that time dared attempt. Then he tried his fortune in

Portugal, earning a living by drawing sea-charts and serving as skipper

on Portuguese vessels sailing to the eastern shores of the Mediterranean

and to Guinea. In the Portuguese school he learned much which was to be

of great importance in his future career. He made his home in Lisbon,

where he married a lady of rank.

It was at this time that he entered into correspondence with Toscanelli,

who sent him a map of the route over the Atlantic to Japan, and gave him

much information drawn from Marco Polo's descriptions. These letters

made a deep impression on Columbus. He wrote back to Toscanelli that he

thought of sailing westwards to Marco Polo's countries according to his

instructions, and Toscanelli replied that he was glad to find his ideas

were so well understood, and that such a voyage would bring great gain

to Columbus, and an extraordinary reputation among all Christian

peoples.

Columbus tried in vain to obtain the support he needed for carrying out

his plan. The King of Portugal and the learned men of the country

listened to him, but treated him as a presumptuous dreamer. There were a

few, however, who thought that he might be right, and on their advice

the King sent a vessel over the ocean without telling Columbus. It soon

returned without having seen land. When Columbus heard of this

underhanded proceeding, he left Lisbon in disgust and travelled alone to

Spain. His wife and children never saw him again, except his son Diego,

who afterwards joined his father.

For two years he travelled from town to town in that part of southern

Spain which is called Andalusia, selling charts, which he drew with his

own hand. At last he was received at Court, and was able to set forth

his plan before an assembly of courtiers and ecclesiastics. But Castile

was too much occupied with the war against the Moors in Granada and

Malaga to venture on such a great enterprise, and Columbus had to wait

for better times.

[Illustration: TOSCANELLI'S MAP.]

Two years more passed by and Columbus was again summoned to the Court,

then in Cordova on the bank of the Guadalquivir. His eloquence and

enthusiasm had little effect, however, and after two more years of

useless waiting he resolved to turn his back on Spain and try his

fortune in France.

Sad and depressed, he followed the great highroad from Cordova. Being

destitute he went up to a monastery beside the road, knocked at the

gate, and begged for a piece of bread for his little son Diego, whom he

held by the hand. While he was talking to the porter the prior came by,

listened to his words, perceived by his accent that he came from Italy,

and enquired into his story and his aims. The prior was a learned and

benevolent man, and entered warmly into the plans of the Italian

mariner, perceiving that such an opportunity of acquiring lands in

eastern Asia should not be lost to Spain. He accordingly wrote to Queen

Isabella, and at the end of 1491 Columbus spoke again before the learned

men of the realm. Some of them treated him as an impostor, but others

believed his words; and when, after the fall of Granada, the Court had a

free hand, it was decided to equip Columbus for his first voyage over

the Atlantic.

All the negotiations nearly fell through at the last moment, owing to

the demands of Columbus. He wished to be appointed High Admiral of the

Ocean and Viceroy over all the savage countries he discovered, and he

demanded for himself and his descendants an eighth part of all the

revenues of the new lands. But when he declared that he intended to

devote his gains to the recovery of Jerusalem from the Turks, his wishes

were granted and funds were assigned for the equipment of three ships in

the harbour of Palos.

These vessels each had three masts, but they were far too small for such

an adventurous enterprise. Only the Admiral's ship, the _Santa Maria_,

was completely decked over. The other two, the _Pinta_ and _Niña_, had

only decks fore and aft. The two brothers Pinzon, of noble extraction,

at once volunteered for the voyage, but it was far from easy to enlist

crews. Had it been a voyage along the coasts of Europe and Africa, there

would have been no difficulty in finding men, but for a voyage straight

out into the unknown ocean--with that the sailors would have nothing to

do. At last it was necessary to open the prisons in order to procure

ninety men, for only that number was needed for the whole three vessels.

The lists of the crews are still extant, and show that most of the men

were Castilians.

Two doctors were taken, as well as a baptized Jew, who spoke Hebrew and

Arabic, and might be useful as an interpreter when the expedition came

over the ocean to India. Curiously enough, Columbus had no chaplain on

board, but before he set sail his friend the prior administered the

sacrament to all his men, who in the opinion of most were doomed to a

watery death.

Armed with a royal despatch to the Great Khan of Mongolia, Columbus

stepped on board the _Santa Maria_, the moorings were cast off, and on

August 3, 1492, the three ships steered under full sail out into the

open sea.

They kept on a south-westerly course, and in six days reached the Canary

Islands, where the little fleet stayed a month to repair some damages

and patch up the _Pinta's_ broken rudder.

On September 8 a definite start was made, and when the lovely Canary

Islands and the Peak of Teneriffe sank beneath the horizon, the sailors

wept, believing that wind and sails would carry them from the world for

ever, and that nothing but water and waves awaited them in the west.

From the first day Columbus kept a very exact diary, which shows how

thoroughly he embraced Toscanelli's theory and how implicitly he relied

on his fellow-countryman's calculations. To his crews, however, he

represented the distance as short, so that their fears should not be

increased by the thought of the great interval that separated them from

the Old World. They became more anxious as days came and went, and still

nothing but boundless deserts of water spread in every direction.

After a week's sail their keels ploughed through whole fields of

floating seaweed, and Columbus pacified his men by the suggestion that

this was the first indication of their approach to land.

The _Santa Maria_ was a broad and clumsy vessel, really intended to

carry cargo. She was, therefore, a slow sailer, and the other two ships

usually took the lead. They were of more graceful build and had large

square sails, but were of barely half the tonnage of the flagship. But

all three kept together and were often so close that shouts could be

heard from one ship to the other. One day Pinzon, captain of the

_Pinta_, called out to Columbus that he had seen birds flying westwards

and expected to sight land before night. They therefore sailed

cautiously lest they should run aground, but all their apprehension

ceased when a sounding-line two hundred fathoms long, lowered through

the floating sea-wrack, failed to reach the bottom.

Their progress was stopped by several days of calm, and it was September

22 before the sea-weed came to an end and the vessels rolled again out

to the open bluish-green water.

Through hissing surge the _Santa Maria_ and her two consorts cut their

way due west. A more favourable breeze could not be wished. It was the

trade wind which filled their sails. The sailors were afraid of the

constant east wind, and when at length it veered round for a time,

Columbus wrote in his journal: "This head-wind was very welcome, for my

men were mightily afraid that winds never blew in these seas which would

take them back to Spain."

Toscanelli's map was sent backwards and forwards between Columbus and

Pinzon, and they wondered where they really were, and how far it was to

the islands of eastern Asia. On September 25, Pinzon ascended the poop

of the _Pinta_ and called out to Columbus, "I see land." Then he fell on

his knees with all his crew, and, with voices trembling with excitement

and gratitude, the Castilian mariners sang "Glory to God in the

Highest." This was the first time a Christian hymn had sounded over the

waves of the Atlantic. The sailors of the _Santa Maria_ and _Niña_

climbed up into the rigging, and also saw the land and raised the same

song of praise as their comrades. But next day the longed-for land had

vanished. It was only a mist which lay over the sea to leeward, a mirage

in the boundless desert of water.

At the beginning of October, Columbus began to suspect that he had

already passed the islands laid down on Toscanelli's map, and he was

glad that he had not been detained by them but could sail straight on to

the mainland of India. By India was meant at that time the whole of

eastern Asia.

On October 7 the men on all the three vessels were sure that they saw

land. Every sail was set. Each vessel thought it an honour to reach it

first. The _Niña_ took the lead. At sunrise the flag of Castile was

hoisted to the topmast and a shot thundered from its poop. During the

day the land vanished again. But now flocks of birds were seen, all

making south-westwards, and Columbus gave orders to follow in the same

direction. He wrote in his diary: "The sea, thank God, lay like the

river at Seville, the temperature was as mild as in April at Seville,

and the air was so balmy that it was delightful to breathe it."

But they sailed day after day and through the nights, and still there

was nothing to be seen but water. The men had several times given vent

to their discontent, and now began to grumble again. Columbus soothed

them and reminded them of the reward that awaited them when they had

attained their goal. "Besides, their complaints were useless, for I have

sailed out to reach India, and intend to prolong my voyage until, with

God's help, I have found it."

On October 11 a log was seen floating in the sea with marks on it

apparently cut by human hands; and shortly after, a branch with clusters

of berries. Then the sailors became content, and the Admiral promised a

reward to the man who first sighted land. All kept their eyes open and

watched eagerly.

In the evening Columbus thought he saw a flash of light as though a man

were carrying a torch along a low shore, and later in the night one of

the _Pinta's_ men swore that land was visible in front. Then all sails

were taken in and they waited for the dawn.

When the sun rose on October 12, 1492, its rays illumined, before the

eyes of the Spaniards, a flat grass-covered island which Columbus called

San Salvador or St. Saviour, after Him who had rescued them from the

perils of the sea. This island evidently lay north of Japan--at any

rate, it would appear so from Toscanelli's map. Little did Columbus and

his men suspect that a whole unknown continent and the world's greatest

ocean, the Pacific, still separated them from Japan. The small island

was one of the Bahama group, and is now known as Watling Island. If the

voyages of the Northmen five hundred years earlier be left out of

account, this island was the first point of the New World reached by

Europeans.

The great day was begun with the _Te Deum_. The officers congratulated

the Admiral, the sailors threw themselves at his feet and begged

forgiveness for their insubordination. A boat was lowered, into which

stepped Columbus with the flag of Castile in his hand, followed by the

Pinzon brothers with the Banner of the Cross, and a few others. Without

knowing it, Columbus stepped on to the soil of America. Solemnly he took

possession of San Salvador on behalf of the crown of Castile. A cross

was erected on an elevation on the shore in token that the island was in

Christian hands.

The natives must have been astonished when they saw the three wonderful

ships arrive off their coast and white men come ashore. At first they

held aloof, but with beads and other gifts the Spaniards soon gained

their confidence. They had only wooden javelins for weapons, did not

know iron, had long lanky hair, not woolly like the negroes, were naked,

and painted their bodies red and white. They knew gold, and that was

well, for it was gold, and gold above everything, that Columbus needed

to free the Holy Sepulchre from the Turks. These savages had gold rings

in their noses, and when the Spaniards inquired by signs where the gold

came from, they pointed towards the south-west.

Columbus, of course, called them Indians. Seven of them were taken on

board. They were to go to Spain and "learn to talk," so that they might

act as interpreters on subsequent voyages.

Then the voyage of discovery was resumed. The ships had to be sailed

with great caution, for dangerous reefs lay round the islands. According

to the signs made by the savages two large islands lay to the south. One

must be Japan, and when Columbus landed on the coast of Cuba and heard

of a prince named Kami, he thought that this man must be the Great Khan,

and that he was really on the mainland of eastern Asia. Accordingly he

sent his Jew and two of his savages ashore to look for the Great Khan.

They were four days away and searched as well as they could among the

tent-like huts of the natives, but never saw a glimpse of any Mongolian

Great Khan in Cuba.

Exceedingly beautiful was this strange coast, reminding them of Sicily.

Sweet song of birds was heard, there was an odour of fruits, and green

foliage and palms waved like plumes in the breeze. The Spaniards were

astonished to see the natives walking about smoking rolled-up leaves

which they called tobacco, and had no notion what a source of wealth

these leaves in the form of cigars would become in the future. Pinzon on

the _Pinta_ must have been bewitched by all the wonders he saw, for he

ran off with his vessel to seek the land of gold on his own account.

Columbus himself sailed across to the large island of Haiti, which as

usual he took possession of in the name of Castile. The natives received

him everywhere with amazement and submission, believing that he was an

emissary from the abode of the gods.