"'Till the moon,Rising in clouded majesty, at lengthApparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.'
"'Till the moon,Rising in clouded majesty, at lengthApparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.'
"'Till the moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.'
"Bravely toiled the men, without murmur, though their legs were bleeding from the cruel grass. 'Ambrosial morn' at last appeared, with all its beautiful and lovely features. Heaven was born anew to us, with comforting omens and cheery promise. The men, though fatigued at the unusual travel, sped forward with quicker pace as daylight broke, until at 8A. M.we sighted the swift Rusugi River, where a halt was ordered in a clump of jungle for breakfast and rest. Both banks of the river were alive with buffalo, elandand antelope, but though the sight was very tempting, we did not fire, because we dared not. The report of a gun would have alarmed the whole country. I preferred my coffee, and the contentment which my mind experienced at our success.
"An hour after we had rested, some natives carrying salt from the Malagarazi were seen coming up the right bank of the river. When abreast of our hiding-place they detected us, and dropping their salt-bags, they took to their heels at once, shouting out as they ran, to alarm some villages that appeared some four miles north of us. The men were immediately ordered to take up their loads, and in a few minutes we had crossed the Rusugi, and were making direct for a bamboo jungle that appeared in our front. Almost as soon as we entered, a weak-brained woman raised a series of piercing yells. The men were appalled at this noisy demonstration, which would call down upon our heads the vengeance of the Wahha for evading the tribute, to which they thought themselves entitled. In half an hour we should have hundreds of howling savages about us in the jungle, and probably a general massacre would ensue. The woman screamed fearfully again and again, for no cause whatever. Some of the men, with the instinct of self-preservation, at once dropped their bales and loads and vanished into the jungle. The guide came rushing back to me, imploring me to stop her noise. The woman'shusband, livid with rage and fear, drew his sword and asked permission to cut her head off at once. Had I given the least signal, the woman had paid with her life for her folly. I attempted to hush her cries by putting my hand over her mouth, but she violently wrestled with me, and continued her cries worse than ever. There remained nothing else for me to do but to try the virtue of my whip over her shoulders. I asked her to desist after the first blow. 'No!' She continued her insane cries with increased force and volume. Again my whip descended on her shoulders. 'No, no, no.' Another blow. 'Will you hush?' 'No, no, no,' louder and louder she cried, and faster and faster I showered the blows for the taming of this shrew. However, seeing I was as determined to flog as she was to cry, she desisted before the tenth blow and became silent. A cloth was folded over her mouth, and her arms were tied behind her; and in a few moments, the runaways having returned to their duty, the expedition moved forward again with redoubled pace."
That night they encamped at Lake Musunya, which swarmed with hippopotami. No tent nor hut was raised, nor fire kindled, and Stanley lay down with his rifle slung over his shoulders, ready to act on a moment's notice. Before daylight they were off again, and at early dawn emerged from the jungle and stretched rapidly across a naked plain. Reaching the Rugufa River, they haltedin a deep shade, when suddenly Stanley heard a sound like distant thunder. Asking one of his men if it were thunder, the latter replied no, that it was the noise made by the waves of Tanganika breaking into the caverns on its shore. Was he, indeed, so near this great inland sea, of which Ujiji was the chief harbor?
Pressing on three hours longer they encamped in the forest. Two hours before daylight they again set out, the guide promising that by next morning they should be clear of the hostile district. On this Stanley exclaims, "Patience, my soul! A few hours more and then the end of all this will be known. I shall be face to face with that white man with the white beard on his face, whoever he may be." Before daylight they started again, and emerging from the forest on to the high road, the guides, thinking they had passed the last village of the hostile tribe, set up a shout, but soon, to their horror, came plump upon its outskirts. Fate seemed about to desert him at the last moment, for if the village was roused he was a doomed man. Keeping concealed amid the trees, Stanley ordered the goats to be killed lest their bleating should lead to discovery, the chickens to be killed also, and then they plunged into the jungle, Stanley being the last man to follow. It was a narrow escape. After an half-hour's march, finding they were not pursued, they again took to the road. One more night in theencampment and then the end would come. Next morning they pushed on with redoubled speed, and in two hours, from the top of a mountain Stanley, with bounding heart, beheld Lake Tanganika, a vast expanse of burnished silver, with dark mountains around it and the blue sky above it. "Hurrah," shouted Stanley, and the natives took up the shout, till the hills and forest rang with their exultant cries. The long struggle was near over; the goal toward which he had been so long straining was almost won.
Stanley's excitement at this supreme moment of his life can never be described or even imagined. When he started from Zanzibar, he knew he had thrown the dice which were to fix his fate. Successful, and his fame was secure, while failure meant death; and all the chances were against him. How much he had taken upon himself no one but he knew; into what gloomy gulfs he had looked before he started, he alone was conscious. Of the risks he ran, of the narrow escapes he had made, of the toils and sufferings he had endured, he alone could form an estimate. With the accumulation of difficulties and the increasing darkness of his prospects, the one great object of his mission had increased in importance, till great though it was, it became unnaturally magnified so that, at last, it filled all his vision, and became the one, the great, the only object in life worth pursuing. For it he had risked so much, toiled so long and suffered so terribly, that the whole world, with all its interests, was secondary to it. Hope had given way to disappointment and disappointment yielded to despair so often, that his strong nature had got keyed upto a dangerous pitch. But now the reward was near. Balboa, when alone he ascended the summit that was to give him a sight of the great Pacific Ocean, was not more intensely excited than was Stanley when he labored up the steep mountain that should give him a view of the Tanganika.
The joy, the exultation of that moment, outbalanced a life of common happiness. It was a feeling that lifts the soul into a region where our common human nature never goes, and it becomes a memory that influences and shapes the character forever. Such a moment of ecstasy—of perfect satisfaction—of exultant, triumphant feeling that asks nothing better—that brings perfect rest with the highest exaltation, can happen to any man but once in a life-time. To attempt to give any description of this culmination of all his effort, and longing, and ambition, except in his own words, would be not only an act of injustice to him, but to the reader.
The descent to Ujiji and the interview with Livingstone is full of dramatic interest and the description of it should not be made by a third party, for to attempt to improve on it would be presumption and would end only in failure. We, therefore, give it in Mr. Stanley's own words, that glow with vivid life from beginning to end, and this shall be his chapter:
"We are descending the western slope of the mountain, with the valley of the Linche before us.Something like an hour before noon we have gained the thick matite brake, which grows on both banks of the river; we wade through the clear stream, arrive on the other side, emerge out of the brake, and the gardens of the Wajiji are around us—a perfect marvel of vegetable wealth. Details escape my hasty and partial observation. I am almost overpowered with my own emotion. I notice the graceful palms, neat plats, green with vegetable plants, and small villages, surrounded with frail fences of the matite cane.
"We push on rapidly, lest the news of our coming might reach the people of Bunder Ujiji before we come in sight and are ready for them. We halt at a little brook, then ascend the long slope of a naked ridge, the very last of the myriads we have crossed. This alone prevents us from seeing the lake in all its vastness. We arrive at the summit, travel across and arrive at its western rim, and—pause, reader—the port of Ujiji is below us, embowered in the palms, only five hundred yards from us. At this grand moment we do not think of the hundreds of miles we have marched, of the hundreds of hills we have ascended and descended, of the many forests we have traversed, of the jungles and thickets that annoyed us, of the fervid salt plains that blistered our feet, of the hot suns that scorched us, nor the dangers and difficulties now happily surmounted. At last the sublime hour hasarrived! our dreams, our hopes, our anticipations are about to be realized. Our hearts and our feelings are with our eyes, as we peer into the palms and try to make out in which hut or house lives the white man, with the gray beard, we heard about on the Malagarazi.
"'Unfurl the flags and load the guns.'
"'Ay, Wallah, ay, Wallah, bana!' responded the men, eagerly.
"'One—two—three—fire.'
"A volley from nearly fifty guns roars like a salute from a battery of artillery; we shall note its effect, presently, on the peaceful-looking village below.
"'Now, Kirangozi, hold the white man's flag up high, and let the Zanzibar flag bring up the rear. And you men keep close together, and keep firing until we halt in the market-place, or before the white man's house. You have said to me often that you could smell the fish of the Tanganika. I can smell the fish of the Tanganika now. There are fish, and beer, and a long rest awaiting for you.March!'
"Before we had gone one hundred yards our repeated volleys had the desired effect. We had awakened Ujiji to the fact that a caravan was coming, and the people were witnessed running up in hundreds to meet us. The mere sight of the flags informed every one immediately that we were a caravan, but the American flag, bornealoft by the gigantic Asmani, whose face was one broad smile on this day, rather staggered them at first. However, many of the people who now approached us remembered the flag. They had seen it float above the American consulate, and from the mast-heads of many a ship in the harbor of Zanzibar, and they were soon heard welcoming the beautiful flag with cries of 'Bindera Kisungu!'—a white man's flag! 'Bindera Mericani!'—the American flag! These cries resounded on all sides.
"Then we were surrounded by them—by Wajiji, Wanyamzi, Wangwana, Warundi, Waguhha, Wamanyuema and Arabs, and were almost deafened with the shout of 'Yambo, yambo, bona! Yambo bona, Yambo bona, Yambo bona!' To all and each of my men the welcome was given.
"We were now about three hundred yards from the village of Ujiji, and the crowds are dense about me. Suddenly I hear a voice on my right say: 'Good morning, sir!'
"Startled at hearing this greeting in the midst of such a crowd of black people, I turn sharply around in search of the man, and see him at my side with the blackest of faces, but animated and joyous—a man dressed in a long white shirt, with a turban of American sheeting around his woolly head, and I ask: 'Who the mischief are you?'
"'I am Susi, the servant of Dr. Livingstone,'said he, smiling and showing a gleaming row of teeth.
"'What! is Dr. Livingstone here?'
"'Yes, sir.'
"'In this village?'
"'Yes, sir.'
"'Are you sure?'
"'Sure, sure, sir. Why I just left him.'
"'Good-morning, sir,' said another voice.
"'Hallo,' said I, 'is this another one?'
"'Yes, sir.'
"'Well, what is your name?'
"'My name is Chumah, sir.'
"'What are you, Chumah, the friend of Weko-tani?'
"'Yes, sir.'
"'And is the doctor well?'
"'Not very well, sir.'
"'Where has he been so long?
"'In Manyuema.'
"'Now you, Susi, run and tell the doctor I am coming.'
"'Yes, sir,' and off he darted like a madman.
"By this time we were within two hundred yards of the village, and the multitude was getting denser, and almost preventing our march. Flags and streamers were out; Arabs and Wangwana were pushing their way through the natives in order to greet us, for according to their account we belonged to them. But the great wonder ofall was, 'How did you come from Unyanyembe?'
"Soon Susi came running back and asked me my name; he had told the doctor that I was coming, but the doctor was too surprised to believe him, and when the doctor asked him my name Susi was rather staggered.
"But during Susi's absence the news had been conveyed to the doctor that it was surely a white man that was coming, whose guns were firing and whose flag could be seen; and the great Arab magnates of Ujiji—Mohammed bin Sali, Sayd bin Majid, Abid bin Suliman, Mohammed bin Gharib and others—had gathered together before the doctor's house, and the doctor had come out on his veranda to discuss the matter and await my arrival.
"In the meantime, the head of the expedition had halted and the Kirangozi were out of the ranks, holding the flag aloft, and Selim said to me, 'I see the doctor, sir. Oh, what an old man! He has got a white beard.' And I—what would I not have given for a bit of friendly wilderness where, unseen, I might vent my joy in some mad freak, such as idiotically biting my hand, turning a somersault, or slashing some trees, in order to allay those exciting feelings that were well-nigh uncontrollable. My heart beats fast, but I must not let my face betray my emotions, lest it shall detract from the dignity of a white man appearing under such extraordinary circumstances.
"So I did that which I thought was most dignified, I pushed back the crowds, and, passing from the rear, walked down a living avenue of people until I came in front of the semi-circle of Arabs, in front of which stood the white man with the gray beard. As I advanced slowly toward him I noticed he was pale, looked wearied, had a gray beard, wore a bluish cap with a faded gold band around it, had on a red-sleeved waistcoat and a pair of gray tweed trousers. I would have run to him, only I was a coward in such a mob—would have embraced him, only, he being an Englishman, I did not know how he would receive me; so I did what cowardice and false pride suggested was the best thing—walked deliberately to him, took off my hat and said, 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume?'
"'Yes,' said he, with a kind smile, lifting his hat slightly.
"I replace my cap on my head, and he puts on his cap, and we both grasp hands, and then I say aloud: 'I thank God, doctor, I have been permitted to see you.'
"He answered: 'I feel thankful I am here to welcome you.'
STANLEY MEETING LIVINGSTONE AT UJIJI
STANLEY MEETING LIVINGSTONE AT UJIJI.
"I turned to the Arabs, took off my hat to them in response to the saluting chorus of 'Yambos,' I receive, and the doctor introduces them to me by name. Then oblivious of the crowds, oblivious of the men who shared with me my dangers, we—Livingstone and I—turn our faces toward his tembe. He points to the veranda, or rather mud platform, under the broad over-hanging eaves; he points to his own particular seat, which I see his age and experience in Africa have suggested, namely, a straw mat with a goat-skin over it, and another skin nailed against the wall to protect his back from contact with the cold mud. I protest against taking this seat, which so much more befits him than me, but the doctor will not yield: I must take it.
"We are seated—the doctor and I—with our backs to the wall. The Arabs take seats on our left. More than a thousand natives are in our front, filling the whole square densely, indulging their curiosity and discussing the fact of two white men meeting at Ujiji—one just come from Manyuema, in the west, the other from Unyanyembe, in the east.
"Conversation began. What about? I declare I have forgotten. Oh! we mutually asked questions of one another, such as: 'How did you come here?' and 'Where have you been all this long time? the world has believed you to be dead.' Yes, that was the way it began; but whatever the doctor informed me, and that which I communicated to him, I cannot exactly report, for I found myself gazing at him, conning the wonderful man, at whose side I now sat in Central Africa. Every hair of his head and beard, every wrinkle of hisface, the wanness of his features, and the slightly wearied look he wore, were all imparting intelligence to me—the knowledge I craved for so much ever since I heard the words, 'Take what you want, but find Livingstone.' What I saw was deeply interesting intelligence to me, and unvarnished truths I was listening and reading at the same time. What did these dumb witnesses relate to me?
"Oh, reader, had you been at my side that day at Ujiji, how eloquently could be told the nature of this man's work! Had you been there but to see and hear! His lips gave me the details; lips that never lie. I cannot repeat what he said; I was too much engrossed to take my note-book out and begin to stenograph his story. He had so much to say that he began at the end, seemingly oblivious of the fact that five or six years had to be accounted for. But his account was oozing out; it was growing fast into grand proportions—into a most marvelous history of deeds.
"The Arabs rose up with a delicacy I approved, as if they intuitively knew that we ought to be left to ourselves. I sent Bombay with them to give them the news they also wanted so much to know about the affairs at Unyanyembe. Sayd bin Majid was the father of the gallant young man whom I saw at Masange, and who fought with me at Zimbizo, and who soon afterwards was killed by Mirambo's Ruga—Ruga in the forest ofWilyankuru; and knowing I had been there, he earnestly desired to hear the tale of the fight; but they all had friends at Unyanyembe, and it was but natural that they should be anxious to hear of what concerned them.
"After giving orders to Bombay and Asmani for the provisioning of the men of the expedition, I called 'Kaif-Halek,' or 'how do ye do,' and introduced him to Dr. Livingstone as one of the soldiers in charge of certain goods left at Unyanyembe, whom I had compelled to accompany me to Ujiji that he might deliver in person to his master, the letter-bag he had been intrusted with by Dr. Kirk.
"This was the famous letter-bag marked 'Nov. 1st, 1870,' which was now delivered into the doctor's hands, three hundred and sixty-five days after it left Zanzibar! How long, I wonder, had it remained at Unyanyembe, had I not been dispatched into Central Africa in search of the great traveler?
"The doctor kept the letter-bag on his knee, then, presently, opened it, looked at the letters contained there and read one or two of his children's letters, his face, in the meanwhile, lighting up.
"He asked me to tell him the news. 'No, doctor,' said I, 'read your letters first, which, I am sure, you must be impatient to read.'
"'Ah,' said he, 'I have waited years for letters, and I have been taught patience. I can surelyafford to wait a few hours longer. No; tell me the general news; how is the world getting along?'
"'You probably know much already. Do you know that the Suez Canal is a fact—is opened and a regular trade carried on between Europe and India through it?'
"'I did not hear about the opening of it. Well, that is grand news! What else?'
"Shortly I found myself enacting the part of an annual periodical to him. There was no need of exaggeration—of any penny-a-line news, or of any sensationalism. The world had witnessed and experienced much the last few years. The Pacific Railroad had been completed; Grant had been elected President of the United States; Egypt had been flooded with savans; the Cretan rebellion had terminated; a Spanish revolution had driven Isabella from the throne of Spain, and a regent had been appointed; General Prim was assassinated; a Castelar had electrified Europe with his advanced ideas upon the liberty of worship; Prussia had humbled Denmark and annexed Schleswig-Holstein, and her armies were now around Paris; the 'Man of Destiny' was a prisoner at Wilhelmshöhe; the queen of fashion and the empress of the French was a fugitive; and the child born in the purple had lost forever the imperial crown intended for its head; the Napoleon dynasty was extinguished by the Prussians,Bismarck and Von Moltke, and France, the proud empire, was humbled to the dust.
"What could a man have exaggerated of these facts? What a budget of news it was to one who had emerged from the depths of the primeval forests of Manyuema! The reflection of the dazzling light of civilization was cast on him while Livingstone was thus listening in wonder to one of the most exciting passages of history ever repeated. How the puny deeds of barbarism paled before these! Who could tell under what new phases of uneasy life Europe was laboring even then, while we two of her lonely children rehearsed the tale of her late woes and glories? More worthily, perhaps, had the tongue of a lyric Demodocus recounted them; but in the absence of the poet, the newspaper correspondent performed his part as well and truthfully as he could.
"Not long after the Arabs had departed, a dishful of hot hashed-meat cakes was sent to us by Sayd bin Majid, and a curried chicken was received from Mohammed bin Sali, and Moeni Kheri sent a dishful of stewed goat meat and rice; and thus presents of food came in succession, and as fast as they were brought we set to. I had a healthy, stubborn digestion, the exercise I had taken had put it in prime order, but Livingstone—he had been complaining that he had no appetite, that his stomach refused everything but a cup of tea now and then—he ate also—ate like avigorous, hungry man; and as he vied with me in demolishing the pancakes, he kept repeating, 'You have brought me new life.'
"'Oh, by George,' I said, 'I have forgotten something. Hasten, Selim, and bring that bottle; you know which; and bring me the silver goblets. I brought this bottle on purpose for this event, which I hoped would come to pass, though often it seemed useless to expect it.'
"Selim knew where the bottle was, and he soon returned with it—a bottle of Sillery champagne; and, handing the doctor a silver goblet brimful of the exhilarating wine, and pouring a small quantity into my own, I said: 'Dr. Livingstone, to your very good health, sir.'
"'And to yours,' he responded.
"And the champagne I had treasured for this happy meeting was drank with hearty good wishes to each other.
"But we kept on talking and talking, and prepared food was brought to us all that afternoon, and we kept on eating every time it was brought until I had eaten even to repletion, and the doctor was obliged to confess that he had eaten enough. Still, Halimah, the female cook of the doctor's establishment, was in a state of the greatest excitement. She had been protruding her head out of the cook-house, to make sure that there were really two white men sitting down in the veranda, when there used to be only one, whowould not, because he could not, eat anything; and she had been considerably exercised in her mind over this fact. She was afraid the doctor did not properly appreciate her culinary abilities; but now she was amazed at the extraordinary quantity of food eaten, and she was in a state of delightful excitement. We could hear her tongue rolling off a tremendous volume of clatter to the wondering crowds who halted before the kitchen to hear the current of news with which she edified them. Poor, faithful soul. While we listen to the noise of her furious gossip, the doctor related her faithful services and the terrible anxiety she evinced when the guns first announced the arrival of another white man in Ujiji; how she had been flying about in a state of the utmost excitement, from the kitchen into his presence, and out again into the square, asking all sorts of questions; how she was in despair at the scantiness of the general larder and treasury of the strange household; how she was anxious to make up for their poverty by a grand appearance—to make up a sort of Barmecide feast to welcome the white man.
"'Why,' said she, 'is he not one of us? Does he not bring plenty of cloth and beads? Talk about the Arabs! Who are they, that they should be compared to white men? Arabs, indeed!'
"The doctor and I conversed upon many things, especially upon his own immediate troubles, and his disappointment upon his arrival at Ujiji whentold that all his goods had been sold, and he was reduced to poverty. He had but twenty cloths or so left of the stock he had deposited with the man called sheriff, the half-caste, drunken tailor, who was sent by the British consul in charge of the goods. Besides which he had been suffering from an attack of the dysentery, and his condition was most deplorable. He was but little improved on this day, though he had eaten well, and already began to feel stronger and better.
"This day, like all others, though big with happiness to me, at last, was fading away. We, sitting with our faces looking to the east, as Livingstone had been sitting for days preceding my arrival, noted the dark shadow which crept up above the grove of palms beyond the village, and above the rampart of mountains which we had crossed that day, now looming through the fast-approaching darkness; and we listened, with our hearts full of gratitude to the great Giver of Good and Dispenser of all Happiness to the sonorous thunder of the surf of the Tanganika, and to the chorus which the night insects sang. Hours passed, and we were still sitting there with our minds busy upon the day's remarkable events, when I remembered that the venerable traveler had not yet read his letters.
"'Doctor,' I said, 'you had better read your letters. I will not keep you up any longer.'
"'Yes,' he answered, 'it is getting late, and Iwill go and read my friends' letters. Good-night, and God bless you.'
"'Good-night, my dear doctor, and let me hope, your news will be such as you desire.'"
Since the creation of the world there never has occurred such another interview. The feelings of Stanley that night, in the heart of Africa, can only be imagined. The strain had ended, the doubt and suspense were over—he had found Livingstone!he had succeeded; his most extravagant dreams had been realized; his wildest ambition was satisfied, and from that hour the adventurer, the newspaper correspondent, took his place among the great explorers of the world. But it was no stroke of luck,—it was the fitting reward of great risks and great endeavor.
Rest and repose were now enjoyed to the full by Stanley. His long struggles, his doubts and fears, his painful anxiety were over, and the end toward which he had strained with such unflagging resolution, the most disheartening circumstances, and which at times seemed to recede the more as he pressed forward, was at last reached. The sweet repose, the calm satisfaction and enjoyment which always come with the consciousness of complete success, now filled his heart, and he felt as none can feel but he who has at last won a long and doubtful battle. It was complete rest, the entire fruition of his hopes; and as he sat down there in the heart of Africa, beside Livingstone, he was doubtless for at least the first few days, the happiest man on the globe, and well he deserved to be. The goal was won, the prize secured, and for the time being his utmost desires were satisfied. Why should he not be happy?
His intercourse with Livingstone for the next four months will be marked by him as the brightest portion of his eventful life. Independent of all he had undergone to find this remarkable man,the man himself enlisted all his sympathies and awakened his most extravagant admiration and purest love, and a more charming picture can hardly be conceived than these two men, walking at sunset along the beach of the wild and lonely lake of Tanganika, talking over the strange scenes and objects of their strange, new world, or recalling home and friends far away amid all the comforts and luxuries of civilization. The man whom Stanley had at last found was almost as new and startling a revelation to him as the country in which he had found him. Simple, earnest, unselfish—nay, unambitious, so far as personal fame was concerned, borne up in all his sufferings and trials by one great and noble purpose, and conquering even savage hate by the power of goodness alone, he was an object of the profoundest interest. And no greater eulogium on the innate goodness and nobleness of Stanley's nature could be given than he unconsciously bestowed on himself by the deep attachment, nay, almost adoration, he expresses for this lonely, quiet, good man. He fastens to him at once, and casting off old prejudices and rejecting all former criticisms of his character, he impulsively becomes his champion, and crowns him the prince of men.
The talk between them at their first meeting in this far-off land, was long and pleasant, and when the good-night was given, it was with strange feelings that Stanley turned into his allottedsleeping place in a regular bed. After all the toils and almost unnatural excitement of the day, he soon sank into profound slumber. The next morning he awoke with a start, and looked about him for a moment in a dazed way. He was not on the ground, but in a bed; a roof, not a tent, was above him, while not a sound broke the stillness save the steady, monotonous roar of the surf beating on the shore. As he lay and listened, strange thoughts and varied emotions chased each other in rapid succession through his heart. At length he arose and dressed himself, intending before breakfast to take a stroll along the shore of the lake. But the doctor was up before him and met him with a cordial "Good-morning," and the hope that he had rested well.
Livingstone had sat up late reading the news that Stanley had brought him from the outside world, from which he had heard nothing for years.
"Sit down," said the venerable man, "you have brought me good and bad news," and then he repeated, first of all, the tidings he had received from his children.
In the excitement of the day before, the doctor had forgotten to inquire of Stanley the object of his coming, or where he was going, and the latter now said: "Doctor, you are probably wondering why I came here."
"It is true," was the reply, "I have been wondering."
That wonder was increased when Stanley said: "I came after you, nothing else."
"After me!" exclaimed the now utterly bewildered man.
"Yes," said Stanley, "after you. I suppose you have heard of the New YorkHerald?"
"Yes," said the doctor.
"Well, Mr. Bennett, son of the proprietor, sent me, at his own expense, to find you."
Poor Livingstone could hardly comprehend the fact that an American, and a stranger, should expend $25,000 to find him, a solitary Englishman.
Stanley lived now some four months in the closest intimacy with Livingstone. Removed from all the formalities of civilized life—the only two in that far-off land who could converse in the English language, and who were of the same lineage and faith—their relations of necessity became very intimate. All restraint was thrown off, and this noble man poured into the astonished ears of Stanley all he had thought, prayed for, endured and suffered for the last long five years. It was a new revelation to his hearer. It opened up a new world; gave him a new and loftier conception of what human nature is capable of attaining, and he says: "I had gone over battle-fields, witnessed revolutions, civil wars, rebellions, emeutes and massacres; stood close to the condemned murderer to record his last struggles and last sighs; but never had I been called to record anythingthat moved me so much as this man's woes and sufferings, his privations and disappointments, which were now poured into my ear. Verily did I begin to believe that 'the gods above us do with just eyes survey the affairs of men.' I began to recognize the hand of an overruling Providence."
After resting for a week, during which time Stanley became thoroughly acquainted with Livingstone and learned to respect and love him more and more, the former asked the doctor if he would not like to explore the north end of the Tanganika Lake and among other things, settle the question whether the Rusizi River flowedintooroutof the lake. The doctor gladly consented, and they set off in a canoe manned by sixteen rowers. The weather was fine, the scenery charming, and it seemed like floating through a fairyland. Day after day they kept on—landing at night on the picturesque shores, undisturbed, except in one or two instances, by the natives. The luxuriant banks were lined with villages, filled with an indolent, contented people. With no wants except food to eat, and the lake full of fish, they had nothing to stimulate them to activity or effort of any kind.
VILLAGE ON TANGANIKA LAKE
VILLAGE ON TANGANIKA LAKE.
Islands came and went, mountains rose and faded on the horizon, and it was one long holiday to our two explorers. As the rowers bent steadily to their oars and the canoe glided softly through the rippling waters, they spent the time inadmiring the beautiful scenery that kept changing like a kaleidoscope, or talking of home and friends and the hopes and prospects of the future. A hippopotamus would now and then startle them by his loud snort, as he suddenly lifted his head near the boat to breathe, wild fowl skittered away as they approached, a sweet fragrance came down from the hill-sides, and the tropical sky bent soft and blue above them. The conventionalities of life were far away and all was calm and peaceful, and seemed to Stanley more like a dream than a reality. They were thus voyaging along the coast twenty-eight days, during which time they had traversed over three hundred miles of water.
But at last the time came for Stanley to turn his footsteps homeward. He tried in vain to prevail on Livingstone to go home with him, but the latter, though anxious to see his children, resolutely refused, saying that he must finish his work. He, however, concluded to accompany Stanley as far as Unyanyembe, to meet the stores which had been forwarded to that place for him from Zanzibar. On the 27th of December, therefore, they set out by a new route. Nothing occurred in the long journey of special interest, except the shooting of a zebra or a buffalo, the meeting of a herd of elephants or giraffes, or a lion. It was a tedious and toilsome journey, during which Stanley suffered from attacks of fever, and Livingstone from lacerated feet. They were fifty-three dayson the march, but at last Unyanyembe was reached. Stanley once more took possession of his old quarters. Here both found letters and papers from home, brought by a recent caravan, and once more they seemed put in communication with the outside world. Being well-housed and provided with everything they needed, they felt thoroughly comfortable.
The doctor's boxes were first broken open, and between the number of poor articles they contained and the absence of good ones which had been abstracted on the way, they proved something of a disappointment. Stanley then overhauled his own stores, of which there were seventy-four loads, the most valuable of which he intended to turn over to Livingstone. These also had been tampered with; still many luxuries remained, and they determined to have their Christmas dinner over again. Stanley arranged the bill of fare, and it turned out grandly. But now he saw that he must begin to prepare for his return to the coast, and so he left Livingstone to write up his journal and to finish the letters he was to send home. In overhauling the stores and making up the packages he should need on his return route, he was able to select and turn over to the doctor two thousand seven hundred and eighty-eight yards of cloth, nine hundred and ninety-two pounds of assorted beads, three hundred and fifty pounds of brass wire, besides bed,canvas boat, carpenters' tools, rifles, revolvers, ammunition, cooking utensils and various other articles of use, making in all about forty loads. These, with the doctor's personal stores, made Livingstone quite a rich man for Central Africa—in fact, he had a four years' supply.
At length the letters were all written, the loads strapped, and the next day fixed for Stanley to turn his face homeward and Livingstone his to the heart of Africa. At night the natives gave a great dance as a farewell compliment, and a wild, weird dance it was. Bombay wore a water-bucket on his head, while each carried or wore something grotesque or dangerous. The first was a war dance, and when it ended, a second and different one was started, accompanied by a chorus or song chanted in a slow, mournful tone, of which the burden was "Oh-oh-oh, the white man is going home."
That night as Stanley lay and pondered on the morrow, when he should see the "good man" for the last time, he was filled with the keenest sorrow. He had grown to love him like a father; and to see him turn back alone to the savage life he must encounter in his great work, seemed like giving him over to death.
It was a sad breakfast to which the two sat down next morning. But it was over at last and the parting hour came.
"Doctor," said Stanley, "I will leave two menwith you for a couple of days, lest you may have forgotten something, and will wait for them at Tura; and now we must part—there is no help for it—good-bye."
"Oh," replied Livingstone, "I am coming with you a little way; I must see you off on the road;" and the two walked on side by side, their hearts burdened with grief.
At last Stanley said: "Now, my dear doctor, the best friends must part, you have come far enough, let me beg of you to turn back."
Livingstone stopped and, seizing Stanley's hand, said: "I am grateful to you for what you have done for me. God guide you safe home and bless you, my friend."
"And may God bring you safe back to us all, my friend," replied Stanley, with a voice choked with emotion. "Farewell."
They wrung each other's hands in silence for a minute, and then Stanley turned away to hide his tears, murmuring: "Good-bye, doctor; dear friend, good-bye."
He would not have been the man he is, not to have been overcome at this parting; alas, to be, as it proved, a final parting, so far as concerns meeting again in this life. But this was not all—the doctor's faithful servants would not be forgotten, and rushing forward, they seized Stanley's hands and kissed them for their good master's sake. The stern and almost tyrannical man, thatneither danger nor suffering could move, completely broke down under this last demonstration and could recover himself only by giving the sharp order,March! and he almost drove his men before him, and soon a turn in the path shut out Livingstone's form forever. Yes, forever, so far as the living, speaking man is concerned, but shut outneverfrom Stanley's life. That one man fixed his destiny for this world, and who knows but for the eternal ages? No wonder that he said, long after, "My eyes grow dim at the remembrance of that parting. For four months and four days I lived with him in the same house, or in the same boat, or in the same tent, and I never found a fault in him. I am a man of a quick temper, and often without sufficient cause, I dare say, have broken ties of friendship; but with Livingstone I never had cause of resentment, but each day's life with him added to my admiration of him."
The caravan marched wearily back, meeting with nothing eventful till it entered the Ugogo territory, where, owing to a misunderstanding on the part of the natives, who got it into their heads that Stanley meant to pass them without paying the accustomed tribute, a fight seemed inevitable. Had it occurred, it is doubtful whether he or Livingstone's papers would ever have been heard of again. But Stanley had seemed from his infancy a child of destiny, and escaped here, as everywhere, by the skin of his teeth. It was a constantsuccession of toilsome, painful marches, even when the natives were friendly, while there was often a scarcity of provisions. To secure these he, at last, when on the borders of the wilderness of Marenga Mkali, dispatched three men to Zanzibar, with a request to the consul there to send them back with provisions. These messengers were told not to halt for anything—rain, rivers or inundations—but push right on. "Then," says Stanley, "with a loud, vigorous hurrah, we plunged into the depths of the wilderness which, with its eternal silence and solitude, was far preferable to the jarring, inharmonious discord of the villages of the Wagogo. For nine hours we held on our way, starting with noisy shouts the fierce rhinoceros, the timid quagga and the herds of antelopes, which crowd the jungles of this broad Salina. On the 7th, amid a pelting rain, we entered Mpwapwa, where my Scotch assistant, Farquhar, had died."
In twenty-nine days they had marched three hundred and thirty-eight miles. Twelve miles a day, including stoppages and delays, was in such a country rapid marching—nay, almost unparalleled; but Stanley had turned his face homeward and could stand no African dilly-dallying on the way. We cannot go into the details of this homeward march,—to-day startled by a thousand warriors, streaming along the war-path,—to-morrow on the brink of a collision with the natives, the end of which no one could foresee, but the caravanpressed on until they came to the neighborhood of the terrible Makata swamps, that Stanley had occasion so well to remember. Heavy rains had set in, swelling all the streams and inundating the plains, so that the marching was floundering through interminable stretches of water. Now swimming turbulent rivers—now camping in the midst of pestiferous swamps, and all the time drenched by the rain, that fell in torrents—they struggled on until, at last, they came to the dreaded Makata swamp itself. The sight that met them here was appalling, but there was no retreat, and for long hours they toiled slowly through, sometimes up to their necks in water, sometimes swimming, and where it was shallow sinking in deep mire. They thus fought their way on, and at last, weary, worn and half-starved, came to the Makata River. But no sooner were they over this, than a lake six miles wide stretched before them. The natives warned him against attempting to cross it; but nothing could stop him now, and they all plunged in.
He says: "We were soon up to our armpits, then the water shallowed to the knee, then we stepped up to the neck and waded on tiptoe, until we were halted on the edge of the Little Makata, which raced along at the rate of eight knots an hour." Fierce and rapid as it was, there was no course left but to swim it, and swim it they did. For a whole week they had been wading andswimming and floundering through water, till it seemed impossible that any one could survive such exposure, but, at last they came to dry ground and to the famous walled city of the Sultana Limbamwanni, which we described in his upward journey. But the heavy rains that had inundated the whole country, had so swollen the river, near the banks on which it was situated, that the water had carried away the entire front wall of the town, and some fifty houses with it. The sultana had fled and her stronghold had disappeared. All along the route was seen the devastating power of the flood as it swept over the country, carrying away a hundred villages in its course. The fields were covered with débris of sand and mud, and what was a paradise when he went in was now a desert. With the subsidence of the water the atmosphere became impregnated with miasma, and the whole land seemed filled with snakes, scorpions, iguanas and ants, while clouds of mosquitoes darkened the air till life became almost intolerable. At last, on May 2d, after forty-seven days of incessant marching, and almost continual suffering, they reached Rosako, where, a few minutes after, the three men he had sent forward arrived, bringing with them a few boxes of jam, two of Boston crackers, and some bottles of champagne; and most welcome they were after the terrible journey through the Makata Valley. The last great obstacle (a ferry of four miles across a watery plain) being surmounted,the caravan approached Bagomayo, and in their jubilant excitement announced its arrival by the firing of guns and blowing of horns, and with shouting hurrahs till they were hoarse. The sun was just sinking behind the distant forests, from which they had emerged and which were filled with such terrible associations, when they entered the town, and sniffed with delight the fresh sea-breeze that came softly stealing inland. The putrid air of the swamps, the poisonous miasma that enveloped the entire country, were left far behind with want and famine, and no wonder the heart was elated and their bounding joy found expression in exultant shouts.
Happy in having once more reached civilization; happy in the thought of his triumphant success; and still more happy in the joy that he believed the good news he brought would give to others, Stanley's heart was overflowing with kindness to all, and the world seemed bright to him. But, in a moment it was all dashed on opening the papers at Zanzibar. Scarcely one had a kind word for him; on the contrary, he found nothing but suspicion, jealousy and detraction, and even charges of fabricating the whole story of having found Livingstone. He was stunned at this undeserved cruel reception of his declaration, and the faith in the goodness of human nature, with which Livingstone had inspired him, seemed about to give way before this evidence of its meanness and littleness.He could not comprehend how his simple, truthful, unostentatious story could awaken such unkind feelings, such baseless slanders. It was a cruel blow to receive, after all that he had endured and suffered. No wonder he wrote bitter words of the kid-glove geographers, who criticized him, and the press that jeered at him. But he has had his revenge, for he has triumphed over them all.
He immediately set to work to organize a caravan to send off to Livingstone the things he had promised, and then started for home.
Stanley, after he had found Livingstone, naturally thought much of the latter's explorations. Africa had become to him an absorbing subject, and he began to imbibe the spirit of Livingstone. This was natural, for Stanley had already won fame there, and why should he not win still greater laurels in the same field? This feeling was much increased after the death of the great explorer, leaving his work unfinished, which Stanley longed to complete. True, Cameron was on the ground to accomplish this very object, but Stanley knew the difficulties one would have to contend with without a boat of his own. The matter was talked over a good deal, and finally the proprietors of the New YorkHeraldand LondonTelegraphdetermined to send Stanley once more into Africa.
The vast lake region, embracing some six degrees of longitude, and extending from the equator to fifteen degrees south latitude, had become a region of the greatest interest to explorers. On this vast water-shed lived a mighty population, and these lakes, with the rivers running into and out of them, must furnish the roads to commerceand be the means by which Africa should be lifted out of its barbarism into the light of civilization.
The large lakes Nyassa and Tanganika had been more or less explored, but the one possessing the greatest interest, the Victoria Nyanza—on account of the general impression that it was the head of the Nile—was almost wholly unknown. The persistence with which the Nile had mocked all previous attempts to find its source, had imparted a mystery to it and caused efforts to be made to unlock the secret, which were wholly disproportioned to its seeming value or real importance. This lake, therefore, was to be Stanley's first objective point. Livingstone, Speke and Burton, and others had seen it—hewould sail around it in a boat which he would take with him. This he had made in sections, so that it could be carried the nearly one thousand miles through the jungles of Africa to its destination.
Everything being completed he started on his route, and in the latter part of 1874 found himself once more at Zanzibar, after an absence of four years. Here, in organizing his expedition, he discovered that the builder had made his boat, which he had christened the Lady Alice, a great deal heavier than he had ordered; but he luckily found a man in Zanzibar who was able to reduce its weight so that it could be transported by the carriers. His force consisted in all, of a little overthree hundred men, and he took with him several powerful dogs.
The interest of this great expedition begins where he struck off from the regular route of the caravans going west, and entered an entirely new country and encountered a new race of people. Instead of moving directly westward, he turned off to the north, and at length reached the western frontier of Ugogo, on the last day of the year 1874. The country at this point stretched before him in one vast plain, which some of the natives said extended clear to Nyanza. He found that his course led him along the extremity of Whumba, which he was glad to know, as he thought his march would now be unmolested. Two days' march brought them to the borders of Usandawa, a country abounding in elephants. Here he turned to the north-west and entered Ukimbu or Uyonzi on its eastern extremity. The guides he had hired in Ugogo to take him as far as Iramba here deserted him. Hiring fresh ones, he continued two days in the same direction, when these deserted him also, and Stanley found himself one morning on the edge of a vast wilderness without a guide.
The day before, the guides had told him that three days' march would bring him to Urimi. Relying on the truth of this statement, he had purchased only two days' provisions. Thinking, therefore, that they would be there by the evening of the next day, he thought little of thedesertion and moved off with confidence. But the next morning, the track, which was narrow and indistinct at the best, became so inextricably mixed up with the paths made by elephants and rhinoceros, that they were wholly at a loss what course to take. Halting, Stanley sent out men to seek the lost trail, but they returned unable to find it. They then, of course, could do nothing but march by compass, which they did.
As might be expected, it brought them, after a few hours' march, into a dense jungle of acacias and euphorbias, through which they could make their way only by crawling, scrambling and cutting the entangling vines. Now pushing aside an obstructing branch—now cutting a narrow lane through the matted mass, and now taking advantage of a slight opening, this little band of three hundred struggled painfully forward toward what they thought was open country, and an African village with plenty of provisions.
In this protracted struggle the third night overtook them in the wilderness, and there they pitched their lonely, starving camp. To make it more gloomy, one of the men died and was buried; his shallow grave seeming to be a sad foreboding of what awaited them in the future. The want of provisions now began to tell terribly on the men, but there was nothing to do but go forward, trusting to some break in this apparently interminable wilderness. But human endurance has its limit,and although Stanley kept his little force marching all day, they made but fourteen miles. It was a continual jungle, with not a drop of water on the route. The poor carriers, hungry and thirsty, sank under their loads and lagged behind the main force for many miles, until it became a straggling, weary, despondent crowd, moving without order and without care through the wilderness. The strong endeavored to help the weak, and did relieve them of their burdens and encourage them to hold on, so that most of them were able to reach the camp at night. But in despite of all effort five sick, despairing men, strayed from the path, which was only a blind trail made by those in advance.
After the camp for the night was pitched, Stanley sent back scouts to find the wanderers. They explored the woods for a mile each side of the track, but only one man was found, and he fully a mile from the trail and dead. The other four had wandered off beyond reach and were never heard of more. This was getting to be fearful marching—five men in one day was a death-roll that could not be kept up long, and Stanley began to cast about anxiously to determine what step he should next take. There was but one course left open to him, to attempt to retrace his steps was certain death by famine, to advance could not be worse, while it might bring relief, so "push on," was the order, and they did push on, weary, thirsty,starving, and on the fifth day they came to a little village recently established, and which consisted of only four huts, occupied by four men with their wives and children. These had scarcely provisions enough to keep themselves, and hence could give nothing to Stanley's starving men. It was useless to attempt further marching without food, for the men staggered into camp exhausted, and would rather die there than attempt to move again.
Stanley's experience had taught him how far he could urge on these African carriers and soldiers, and he saw they had now become desperate and would not budge another inch until they had something to eat. He, therefore, ordered a halt, and selecting twenty of his strongest men, sent them off in search of food. They were to press on to a village called Suna, about thirty miles distant, of which the natives told him, and where they said food was in abundance. As soon as they had disappeared in the forest, Stanley took his gun and strolled out in search of game. But, filled as the country seemed with it, he could find nothing to shoot. One of his men, however, came across a lion's den, in which were two cubs, which he brought to Stanley. The latter skinned them and took them back to camp. As he entered it, the pinched and worn faces of his faithful men, as they sat hungry and despairing, moved him so deeply that he would have wept, but for fear of adding totheir despondency. The two cubs would go but a little way toward feeding some two hundred and twenty men, if cooked as ordinary meat, so he resolved to make a soup of them, which would go much farther. But the question was where to get a kettle large enough to make a soup for such a large body of men.
Luckily, he bethought himself of a sheet-iron trunk which he had among his baggage, and which was water-tight. He quickly dumped out of it its contents, and filling it with water, set it over a fire which he had ordered to be made. He then broke open his medical stores, and taking out five pounds of Scotch oatmeal and three one-pound tins ofRevalenta Arabica, he made with it and the two young lions a huge trunk full of gruel, that would give even two hundred and twenty men a good bowl apiece. He said it was a rare sight to see those hungry, famished men gather around that Torquay dress-trunk and pile on the fuel, and in every way assist to make the contents boil, while with greedy eyes, with gourds in their hands full of water, they stood ready to pour it in the moment it threatened to boil over and waste the precious contents. "But," he adds, "it was a rarer sight still to watch the famished wretches, as, with these same gourds full of the precious broth, they drank it down as only starving men swallow food. The weak and sick got a larger portion, and another tin of oatmeal being opened for theirsupper and breakfast, they awaited patiently the return of those who had gone in quest of food."
Stanley's position now became painfully trying. He was five days' march from where he could obtain food, if he attempted to go back. This march, in the present condition of his men, they could never make, and if any did survive, it would be on the terrible condition of the living eating the dead.
The only hope lay in reaching supplies in advance. But what if those twenty strong men he had sent on to find them never returned, having been ambushed and killed on the way, or what if they, at the end of several days, returned and reported nothing but an unbroken wilderness and impassable jungle or swamps in front, and themselves famished, ready to die? These were questions that Stanley anxiously put to himself and dared not contemplate the answer. The hours of painful anxiety and suspense, the maddening thoughts and wild possibilities that fire the brain and oppress the heart in such crises as these cannot be imagined, they can be known only by him who suffers the pangs they inflict. This is a portion of the history of the expedition that Stanley can never write, though it is written on his heart in lines that will never be effaced.
The empty trunk lay on one side, and the night came down and the stars burned bright and tranquilly above, and all was silent in the wide solitudeas Stanley sat and listened for the return of his men. But they came not, and the morning broke and the sun rode the tropical heavens once more in his splendor, but no musket-shot from the forest told of the returning scouts. The weary hours wore on and the emaciated men lay around in silent suffering. To Stanley those hours seemed days. Night again darkened the forest and still no sign of the returning party. Would they ever return? was the terrible question Stanley was perpetually putting to himself, and if not, what desperate movement should he attempt?
The third morning broke as calm and peaceful as the rest; he was beginning to despair, when, suddenly, a musket-shot broke over the forest, and then another and another, sending sudden life and activity throughout the despairing camp. The men, as they emerged into view laden with food, were greeted with a loud shout, and the hungry wretches fell on the provisions they brought like ravening wolves. The report of abundance ahead so excited the men that they forgot their feebleness and clamored to be led on that very afternoon. Stanley was quite willing to get away from the jungle, filled with such painful associations, and cheerfully ordered the march, but before they could get away two men breathed their last in the camp and were left to sleep alone in the wilderness.
That night they encamped at the base of arocky hill, from which stretched away a broad plain. The hill, lifting itself into the clear air, and the open plain, seemed like civilization compared with the gloomy jungle in which they had been starving for the last two days, and where they had left two of their number. They awoke next morning cheerful and refreshed. Starting off with the prospect of abundant provisions ahead, they made a steady march of twenty miles and reached the district of Suna in Urimi.
Stanley was surprised, on entering the rude village, to see a new type of African life. Men and women of great beauty and fine physical proportions met his astonished sight. They stood before him in all their naked beauty, unabashed: the women bearing children alone wearing a covering of goat skins, designed evidently as a protection against external injury, and not caused by any notions of modesty. Their fine appearance seemed to indicate a greater mental development than any other tribes which they had met. Whether this were so or not, it would be difficult to tell, for they were the most suspicious, reserved people Stanley had ever met, being greatly disinclined to barter provisions, of which they had more than they wanted, for cloth and beads, of which they apparently had none.
They had no chief, but seemed to be governed in their actions by the old men. With these Stanley therefore treated for permission to passthrough their land. It required great tact to secure this, and still more to obtain the required food. Stanley bore this silent hostility patiently, for though he could have taken all he wanted by force, he wished to avoid all violence. While lingering here, two more of his exhausted company gave out and died, while his sick list swelled up to thirty. Among the latter was Edward Pocoke, whom, with his brother, Stanley had engaged in England to accompany him as attendants. This compelled him to halt for four days, but finding that the hostile feeling of the natives increased the longer he stayed, he determined, dangerous as it was to the sick, especially to Pocoke, to leave. Dysentery and diarrhœa were prevailing to an alarming extent, and rest was especially necessary for these, if they hoped to recover; but he was afraid matters would become dangerously complicated if he remained, and he turned his soldiers into carriers and slung the sick into hammocks. Encouraging them with the prospect of plenty and comfort ahead, he gave the order to march, and they passed out and entered upon a clear, open and well cultivated country. Reaching a village at 10 o'clock they halted, and here, to the great grief of all, young Pocoke breathed his last. In speaking of this sad event, which cast a gloom over the camp, Stanley says: "We had finished the four hundredth mile of our march from the sea and had reached the base of thewater-shed, where the trickling streams and infant waters began to flow Nile-ward, when this noble young man died." They buried him at night under a tree, with the stars shining down on the shallow-made grave; Stanley reading the burial service of the Church of England over the body. Far from home and friends in that distant lonely land he sleeps to-day, a simple wooden cross marking his burial place. Stanley sent the following letter home to the young man's father, describing his sickness and death:
"Kagehyi, on the Victoria Nyanza,"March 4th, 1875."Dear Sir: A most unpleasant, because sad, task devolves upon me, for I have the misfortune to have to report to you the death of your son Edward, of typhoid fever. His service with me was brief, but it was long enough for me to know the greatness of your loss, for I doubt that few fathers can boast of such sons as yours. Both Frank and Ted proved themselves sterling men, noble and brave hearts and faithful servants. Ted had endeared himself to the members of the expedition by his amiable nature, his cheerfulness, and by various qualifications which brought him into high favor with the native soldiers of this force."Before daybreak we were accustomed to hear the cheery notes of his bugle, which woke us to afresh day's labor; at night, around the camp-fires, we were charmed with his sweet, simple songs, of which he had an inexhaustiblerépertoire. When tired also with marching, it was his task to announce to the tired people the arrival of the vanguard at camp, so that he had become quite a treasure to us all; and I must say, I have never known men who could bear what your sons have borne on this expedition so patiently and uncomplainingly. I never heard one grumble either from Frank or Ted; have never heard them utter an illiberal remark, or express any wish that the expedition had never set foot in Africa, as many men would have done in their situation, so that you may well imagine, that if the loss of one of your sons causes grief to your paternal heart, it has been no less a grief to us, as we were all, as it were, one family, surrounded as we are by so much that is dark and forbidding."On arriving at Suna, in Urimi, Ted came to me, after a very long march, complaining of pain in his limbs and loins. I did not think it was serious at all, nor anything uncommon after walking twenty miles, but told him to go and lie down, that he would be better on the morrow, as it was very likely fatigue. The next morning I visited him, and he again complained of pains in the knees and back, which I ascribed to rheumatism, and treated him accordingly. The third day he complained of pain in the chest, difficulty ofbreathing and sleeplessness, from which I perceived he was suffering from some other malady than rheumatism, but what it could be I could not divine. He was a little feverish, so I applied a mustard-plaster and gave him some aperient medicine. Toward night he began to wander in his head, and on examining his tongue I found it was almost black and coated with dark gray fur. At these symptoms I thought he had a severe attack of remittent fever, from which I suffered in Ujiji, in 1871, and therefore I watched for an opportunity to administer quinine—that is, when the fever should abate a little."On the fourth day, the patient still wandering in his mind, I suggested to Frank that he should sponge him with cold water and change his clothing, during which operation I noticed that the chest of the patient was covered with spots like pimples or small-pox pustules, which perplexed me greatly. He could not have caught the small-pox, and what the disease was I could not imagine; but, turning to my medical books, I saw that your son was suffering from typhoid, the description of which was too clear to be longer mistaken, and both Frank and I devoted our attention to him. He was nourished with arrow-root and brandy, and everything that was in our power to do was done; but it was very evident that the case was serious, though I hoped that his constitution would brave it out."On the fifth day we were compelled to resume our journey, after a rest of four days. Ted was put in a hammock and carried on the shoulders of four men. At 10 o'clock on the 17th of January, we halted at Chiwyn, and the minute he was laid down in the camp he breathed his last. Our companion was dead.BURIAL OF EDWARD POCOKEBURIAL OF EDWARD POCOKE."We buried him that night under a tree, on which his brother Frank had cut a deep cross, and we read the beautiful service of the Church of England over him as we laid the poor worn-out body in its final resting-place so far from his own home and friends."Peace be to his ashes. Poor Ted deserved a better fate than dying in Africa, but it was impossible that he could have died easier. I wish that my end may be as peaceful and painless as his. He was spared the stormy scenes we went through afterwards in our war with the Waturn: and who knows how much he has been saved from? But I know that he would have rejoiced to be with us at this hour of our triumph, gazing on the laughing waters of the vast fountain of the old Nile. None of us would have been more elated at the prospect before us than he, for he was a true sailor, and loved the sight of water. Yet again I say peace be to his ashes; be consoled, for Frank still lives, and, from present appearances, is likely to come home to you with honor and glory, such as he and you may well be proudof. Believe me, dear sir, with true sincerity, your well-wisher,"Henry M. Stanley."
"Kagehyi, on the Victoria Nyanza,"March 4th, 1875.
"Dear Sir: A most unpleasant, because sad, task devolves upon me, for I have the misfortune to have to report to you the death of your son Edward, of typhoid fever. His service with me was brief, but it was long enough for me to know the greatness of your loss, for I doubt that few fathers can boast of such sons as yours. Both Frank and Ted proved themselves sterling men, noble and brave hearts and faithful servants. Ted had endeared himself to the members of the expedition by his amiable nature, his cheerfulness, and by various qualifications which brought him into high favor with the native soldiers of this force.
"Before daybreak we were accustomed to hear the cheery notes of his bugle, which woke us to afresh day's labor; at night, around the camp-fires, we were charmed with his sweet, simple songs, of which he had an inexhaustiblerépertoire. When tired also with marching, it was his task to announce to the tired people the arrival of the vanguard at camp, so that he had become quite a treasure to us all; and I must say, I have never known men who could bear what your sons have borne on this expedition so patiently and uncomplainingly. I never heard one grumble either from Frank or Ted; have never heard them utter an illiberal remark, or express any wish that the expedition had never set foot in Africa, as many men would have done in their situation, so that you may well imagine, that if the loss of one of your sons causes grief to your paternal heart, it has been no less a grief to us, as we were all, as it were, one family, surrounded as we are by so much that is dark and forbidding.
"On arriving at Suna, in Urimi, Ted came to me, after a very long march, complaining of pain in his limbs and loins. I did not think it was serious at all, nor anything uncommon after walking twenty miles, but told him to go and lie down, that he would be better on the morrow, as it was very likely fatigue. The next morning I visited him, and he again complained of pains in the knees and back, which I ascribed to rheumatism, and treated him accordingly. The third day he complained of pain in the chest, difficulty ofbreathing and sleeplessness, from which I perceived he was suffering from some other malady than rheumatism, but what it could be I could not divine. He was a little feverish, so I applied a mustard-plaster and gave him some aperient medicine. Toward night he began to wander in his head, and on examining his tongue I found it was almost black and coated with dark gray fur. At these symptoms I thought he had a severe attack of remittent fever, from which I suffered in Ujiji, in 1871, and therefore I watched for an opportunity to administer quinine—that is, when the fever should abate a little.
"On the fourth day, the patient still wandering in his mind, I suggested to Frank that he should sponge him with cold water and change his clothing, during which operation I noticed that the chest of the patient was covered with spots like pimples or small-pox pustules, which perplexed me greatly. He could not have caught the small-pox, and what the disease was I could not imagine; but, turning to my medical books, I saw that your son was suffering from typhoid, the description of which was too clear to be longer mistaken, and both Frank and I devoted our attention to him. He was nourished with arrow-root and brandy, and everything that was in our power to do was done; but it was very evident that the case was serious, though I hoped that his constitution would brave it out.
"On the fifth day we were compelled to resume our journey, after a rest of four days. Ted was put in a hammock and carried on the shoulders of four men. At 10 o'clock on the 17th of January, we halted at Chiwyn, and the minute he was laid down in the camp he breathed his last. Our companion was dead.
BURIAL OF EDWARD POCOKE
BURIAL OF EDWARD POCOKE.
"We buried him that night under a tree, on which his brother Frank had cut a deep cross, and we read the beautiful service of the Church of England over him as we laid the poor worn-out body in its final resting-place so far from his own home and friends.
"Peace be to his ashes. Poor Ted deserved a better fate than dying in Africa, but it was impossible that he could have died easier. I wish that my end may be as peaceful and painless as his. He was spared the stormy scenes we went through afterwards in our war with the Waturn: and who knows how much he has been saved from? But I know that he would have rejoiced to be with us at this hour of our triumph, gazing on the laughing waters of the vast fountain of the old Nile. None of us would have been more elated at the prospect before us than he, for he was a true sailor, and loved the sight of water. Yet again I say peace be to his ashes; be consoled, for Frank still lives, and, from present appearances, is likely to come home to you with honor and glory, such as he and you may well be proudof. Believe me, dear sir, with true sincerity, your well-wisher,
"Henry M. Stanley."
Stanley still traveled in a northwest direction, and the farther he advanced the more he was convinced that the rivulets he encountered flowed into the Nile, and he became elated with the hope that he should soon stand on the shores of the great lake that served as the head reservoir of the mighty river.
Two days' march now brought them to Mongafa, where one of his men who had accompanied him on his former expedition was murdered. He was suffering from the asthma, and Stanley permitted him to follow the party slowly. Straggling thus behind alone, he was waylaid by the natives and murdered. It was impossible to ascertain who committed the deed, and so Stanley could not avenge the crime.
Keeping on they at length entered Itwru, a district of Northern Urimi. The village where they camped was called Vinyata, containing some two thousand to three thousand souls, and was situated in a broad and populous valley, through which flowed a stream twenty feet wide. The people here received him in a surly manner, but Stanley was very anxious to avoid trouble and used every exertion to conciliate them. He seemed at last to succeed, for at evening they brought him milk, eggs and chickens, taking cloth in exchange. Thisreached the ears of the great man of the valley, a magic doctor, who, there being no king over the people, is treated with the highest respect and honor by them. The next day he brought Stanley a fat ox, for which the latter paid him twice what it was worth in cloth and beads, besides making a rich present to his brother and son. To all this man's requests Stanley cheerfully consented in his anxiety to conciliate him and the natives.