It was in April, 1889, that the thrilling narrative of Mr. Stanley's march from the Congo to the Lakes was made known. Then he disappeared again from view, but not for long. Early in November following he was heard from again, authoritatively, and in the same month the story of his work in the Equatorial Province was rehearsed to the listening world. It was on November 24th that Mr. Marston, of London, the well-known publisher, received this letter from the explorer, dated at a mission station at the southern end of Victoria Nyanza, September 3d, 1889:
"It just now," wrote Mr. Stanley, "appears such an age to me since I left England. Ages have gone by since I saw you, surely. Do you know why? Because a daily thickening barrier of silence has crept between us during that time, and this silence is so dense that in vain we yearn to pierce it. On my side I may ask, what have you been doing? On yours you may ask, and what have you been doing? I can assure myself, now that I know you live, that few days have passed without the special task of an enterprising publisher being performed as wisely and as well as possible.
"And, for the time being, you can believe me that one day has followed another in striving strifefully against all manner of obstacles, natural and otherwise. From the day I left Yambuya to August 28th, 1889, the day I arrived here, the bare catalogue of incidents would fill several quires of foolscap; the catalogue of skirmishes would be of respectable length; the catalogue of adventures, accidents, mortalities, sufferings from fever, morbid musings over mischances that meet us daily, would make a formidable list.
"You know that all the stretch of country between Yambuya and this place was an absolutely new country except what may be measured by five ordinary marches.
"First there is that dead white of the map now changed to a dead black—I mean that darkest region of earth confined between east longitude 25 deg. and east longitude 29 deg. 45 min.—one great, compact, remorselessly sullen forest, the growth of an untold number of ages, swarming at stated intervals with immense numbers of vicious, man-eating savages and crafty, undersized men, who were unceasing in their annoyance.
"Then there is that belt of grass land lying between it and Albert Nyanza, whose people contested every mile of our advance with spirit, and made us think that they were the guardians of some priceless treasure hidden on the Nyanza shores, or at war with Emin Pasha and his thousands. Sir Percival, in search of the Holy Grail, could not have met with a hotter opposition.
"Three separate times necessity compelled us to traverse these unholy regions, with varying fortunes. Incidents then crowded fast. Emin Pasha was a prisoner, an officer of ours was his forced companion, and it really appeared as though we were to be added to the list. But there is a virtue, you know, even in striving unyieldingly, in hardening nerves and facing these everclinging mischances, without paying too much heed to reputed danger. One is assisted much by knowing that there is no other coup and danger.
"Somehow, nine times out of ten the diminished rebels of Emin Pasha's government relied on their craft and on the wiles of a 'heathen Chinee,' and it is rather amusing now to look back and note how punishment has fallen upon them.
"Was it Providence or luck? Let those who love to analyze such matters reflect on it. Traitors without the camp and traitors within were watched, and the most active conspirator was discovered, tried and hanged. Traitors without fell foul of one another and ruined themselves. If not luck, then surely it is Providence, in answer to good men's prayers far away.