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